


Finding Her Wolf

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Inner Strength, Rating for later chapters, learning sword fighting, warrior Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa flees with Sandor Clegane the night the Blackwater burns. After being attacked in the woods while on the run, she realizes she's tired of being the damsel in distress. She wants to learn to protect herself, to be able to take down her enemies, of which she has many. She needs to find her wolf again, and who better to help her than one of the most feared warriors in all of Westeros?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first SanSan actually set in the books time, so I'm a little nervous!! Hope you guys enjoy it :) Oh, and the rating is for the later chapters.
> 
> Sansa is aged up because I just can't write underage sexy time. And there will be sexy time. It's up to you to make her whatever age you want her, but just know she's not a preteen girl running about with a man pushing thirty. There's still a significant age gap, but it's more like ten years instead of...like 20 or whatever it is in the books lol. Do what you will!!

It had only been four days before they'd come across the first set of soldiers. There had been five of them. They'd been surprised to see The Hound with the Kings betrothed, obviously they weren't aware of him going craven and stealing her away on the night the Blackwater burned. They'd fought, regardless. And they'd lost. Sandor had taken what coin they had, which wasn't much, but hadn't bothered with their armor. It would never fit a man as big as him. Sansa had taken one of their cloaks. In her frantic hurry to leave that night, she hadn't taken one of her own. Sandor had also taken two of their swords, and shoved a few of their daggers into his saddlebags. When she'd asked why he'd taken their swords, since he had one of his own, he'd told her that swords were expensive. They could sell them later, or if something happened to his, at least he had backup.

Sansa had been frightened when the fighting had started. There were so many of them, and just one him, but he never once seemed worried. He seemed sure, maybe even a little egotistical, but rightfully so. Watching him fight was thrilling. Beyond her fear that he would fall, she was enraptured by the way he moved. He was massive, that much was obvious, but he was also graceful and there wasn't a move he made that didn't have purpose. He'd taken a few blows, and had been cut fairly deeply across his left forearm, but had come out the victor. Sansa had sewn his arm that night after cleaning it out with boiled water since they had no wine, something he complained about endlessly.

The next incident was two weeks later, although this time it was just a small group of bandits, and Sansa had been alone, or at least somewhat. Sandor had gone to the river to bathe while she stayed by the fire to give him privacy when they found her. There was only three this time, and they carried no swords and wore no armor. They looked thin and ravaged, hungry and desperate. And not just for food. She had nothing on her to protect herself. No daggers or knives like they carried. Sandor had taken his sword with him to the river, and the others were all on the other side of the camp near Stranger. She'd screamed, her only line of defense, and had struggled as hard and strong as she could against the three of them. Kicked and slapped and clawed and bit at anything that came close enough. Her dress was ripped and there was blood on her chest and arms, although she wasn't sure if it was her own or theirs, but she kept fighting, and kept screaming. Sandor had come, like she had known he would, and had cut the men down before she knew he was even there, wearing only his pants, unlaced, and soaking wet. She'd assured him she was alright and after he'd cleaned her up he'd taken her for her word when it was clear the blood was mostly not hers. He'd told her she'd done a good job, but she insisted she could have done better, if only she'd had the proper equipment and training.

It would be another three days of begging and bargaining and bugging before he finally agreed to it. Ultimately she got him to agree by pointing out that he could possibly not get there in enough time when it happened next. And there would be a next time, of that she was certain. It might not be bandits or even soldiers, but there would be a next time she fought for her life. She wanted to be capable and ready.

Sword fighting was not as easy as Sandor made it look. The sword was heavy and Sansa could barely make a few swings with it before she couldn't lift her arms any longer. Sandor made her practice with a large branch that he'd smoothed down with his knife. She felt silly practicing with a piece of wood, but he did as well so as not to cut hers in half with his blade. He taught her how to stand and how to move, where to place her feet and where she should be watching and when. He might have taken it easy on her in the aspect of slowing down his movements, but that didn't mean he never hit her. He did. Often. She gained cuts and bruises, but she also got better and better with each passing day and eventually she wasn't getting so many cuts and bruises. He made her practice with the actual sword every morning and night before practicing with her makeshift wooden sword to help her gain arm strength. He told her that if they had a chance, or if they come across an armory, they might find her a smaller sword that was lighter and a better fit for someone Sansa's size by trading in the soldiers swords. By the end of a fortnight, Sansa could spar with Sandor with the actual sword without tiring out so quickly. It felt good. She felt stronger and when she undressed and washed herself in the river, she could see a difference in her arms as well. They were less delicate looking, more defined. A part of her was horrified at it. What Lord would want a lady with muscles for his wife? Not that she was in any way muscular, but she was no longer so soft in her arms and upper chest. A bigger part of her, the part that wanted to live, and that was beyond tired of having people threaten her life, was thrilled with it and reveled in the knowledge that if Joffrey were to find her now, she could fight him. Treason might cost her her head, but she was strong enough to take him out before she went down.

After practicing that evening, she and Sandor sat down and ate their meager supper of the rabbit he'd caught and the berries she'd found.

"You're getting better." he told her with a mouthful of meat. It wasn't so long ago that Sansa would have been appalled at that. But she was getting used to Sandor Clegane and all his harshness and lack of manners.

"You'd still have my head off before I could even lift that sword." she argued.

"True, but I've been swinging a sword since before you were born. It's been my livelihood for most my life. I'm one of the best there is. No point in comparing yourself to me." If anyone else had said something like that, Sansa would have thought it was conceded, but she knew Sandor was no such thing. He was merely honest. And he was one of the best there was.

"You'll be better once we can get you a lighter sword." he added after sucking the remaining meat off the bone and wiping the grease off with the back of his hand.

"You are an animal." Sansa grinned. Sandor looked over at her jape, his eyes narrowed, but then his harshness softened some when he saw her smile.

"So I've been told." he tossed the bones into the trees. "Same could be said for you."

"And how is that?" Sansa asked, sitting primly on the log, ankles crossed, nibbling daintily on her rabbits leg.

"I seem to recall finding you with your teeth sunk into one of those bandits throats like a damn wolf." he reminded her and she blushed. "And I can remember that look in your eye the day you were going to push Joffrey off the battlements." 

Sansa froze, shocked. They'd never spoken of that day. They'd actually refrained from talking of Joffrey and things that had happened to her in Kings Landing at all. She remembered it with perfect clarity, though, and also remembered hating Sandor for days afterwards. He'd saved her life that day, but he'd taken away her choice. It was her decision to die that day with Joffrey, to seek vengeance for her father and her family. She'd eventually gotten over her anger and had been glad Sandor had stopped her, though.

"How did you know?" she asked. Sandor shrugged and looked away.

"It was written clear as day on your face. You went from a courteous little bird to a wild animal out for blood."

"Why did you stop me?" she whispered, unsure he would hear her from where he sat on the ground several feet from her.

"You'd have fallen with him." he still looked out in the trees instead of at her. "Or they'd have taken your head after. Either way, you would have died with him. And the little cunt wasn't worth it. Still isn't. If it were a reckoning for your father you were seeking, it was ill placed. Eddard Stark wouldn't have wanted you to die that way. For that reason."

Sansa sat in silence, staring at the side of his face in shock. He was right, of course. Her father would have been disappointed in her for acting so rashly. But she didn't think he would be disappointed for her choices now. No. Her choices now weren't rash and in the moment. She had long ago developed an odd sense of trust in Sandor Clegane, and going with him the night of the Blackwater seemed her only right choice since meeting Joffrey Baratheon. Now she was fighting to live, not plunging willingly to her death.

"Thank you. I'm glad you did it." Even if his reasoning's in caring whether or not she died confused her then. But he'd never hurt her, and now he was doing everything in his power to get her back home. She'd felt maybe that thin thread of trust was growing, on both ends. That maybe they were becoming something close to friends. She so dearly wanted a friend again.

Sandor had told her when they started out when she asked how long it would take to get to Winterfell that it would be a long time. He said it would be even longer still because they had to stay off the Kings Road and in the woods. They only had the single horse, so it was slow moving. The weather wasn't helping them any. It had been two turns of the moon since they had fled the city, and they had spent that entire time in the woods, only stopping twice in villages to restock on their food supplies, but never staying. One thing that Sansa had remembered in the panic of fleeing was her jewelry and it had come in handy. She was exhausted, though, and smelled something horrid she was certain. Her hair was a tangled mess from not having anything other than cold river water to wash it with. Her skin was chapped and dry and her clothes were all getting too small. She had obviously hit a growth spurt during their travels, it seemed.

"Sandor, please." she begged quietly as they approached the tree line of a small village, the inn's chimney smoking invitingly.

"We don't know who's in there." he said.

"No one is in there." she tried to reason. "No one of importance. Please, Sandor. I need a bath, a real bath with hot water and soap. And I'd dearly love a bed. And a hot meal cooked by someone other than you."

"What's wrong with my cooking?" he snapped, his grey eyes narrowing at her. Sansa couldn't help but grin a little. "It's kept you alive this long, _My Lady_." he said My Lady like it was an insult, and maybe he'd meant it as one. She had told him she didn't know how to cook because ladies had people to do such things for them when they'd first started out.

"Don't you want those things?" she ignored his mocking. "I know you must. Just imagine it. A big wooden tub, or perhaps copper. Filled to the brim with steaming water and salts. A bar of soap to lather away all the dust and filth and sweat." she was putting it on thick and she knew it, but she really, really wanted to stay the night. "A big comfy bed with warm blankets. A roof over our heads and a door that locks. You won't have to keep guard and we can both rest. Really rest." Sansa closed her eyes and sighed, so lost in the fantasy of her own words she could almost picture the bed in her mind. Sandor clearing his throat had her opening her eyes.

"Fine. Just stop your damn chirping." 

They went back to where he'd tied Stranger off and Sandor told her to keep her hair tied back under the hood of her cloak since it was such a noticeable feature. There wasn't much he could do about his scars, but Sansa was sure it was his size and aura of danger that called more attention to him anyway.

The innkeeper was a little old man that Sansa was almost certain was half blind anyway, but just to be sure they had the food sent up to their room instead of eating in the dinning room where one other person sat eating. Sansa had questioned him outside on getting one room or two, and they'd agreed one would be best. Two would look suspicious for a man and woman travelling together, and he would be better able to protect her sharing her room. Besides, they'd been sleeping side by side for the last fortnight for warmth so it wouldn't be much of a change.

The room was tiny, but it was clean and the bed wasn't the cold hard ground and the fire soon had the place warmed. It wasn't too much longer before their food was brought up, along with a tub, two young boys carrying hot water up to fill it. After they'd gorged themselves on the chicken stew, Sandor left her to bathe in private while he saw to Stranger in the stables. The water stung her chapped skin, but she sank in until only her knees stuck above the water and stayed there until she could no longer hold her breath. It felt amazing to scrub herself with the soap bar, even if it wasn't the flower scented ones she was used to. She wanted to stay longer, but figured Sandor would be back soon and he would want a warm bath as well so she got out and dried, putting on her cleanest dress, which was still too small on her ever expanding bust and hips. The innkeepers wife had sent up some hair oil, and she massaged it into the tangled ends and was brushing it out when a knock sounded at the door.

"It's me, child." Sandor's voice rumbled through the door and Sansa grimaced. She hated when he called her that. She moved to unlock the door and he opened it slowly, to make sure she was decent apparently, then stepped inside.

"The water isn't as warm now." she told him. "I could go ask for some more hot water to be brought up if you'd like."

"Don't bother." he undid his sword belt and sat it in the corner. Without him having to ask Sansa went to help him remove his armor like she'd done so often before. Once he was down to his tunic and breeches, she stacked the armor neatly next to his sword, then nervously turned to him.

"I don't know where to go while you bathe." she admitted.

"You don't go anywhere." he snapped. "It's not safe. Just turn around if it upsets your sensibilities." with that, he started to remove his tunic and Sansa spun around, her cheeks heating. As much time as they'd spent together, she'd yet to see him in anything less then what he'd been wearing, save for the evening she was attacked but she'd been too panicked to notice anything. To give herself something to do, she went to the table where he'd brought in the saddle bags and started removing the items to sit out, to help stave off the mold and mildew that tended to grow.

"My dignity is preserved now, little bird." he chuckled darkly to himself and Sansa risked a peek behind her, only to see his upper body and knees above the edge of the tub. He was too big to be able do fit in enough to go under the water, so he was scooping it up with his hands to splash it on his hair.

"Where are we now?" she asked, turning back to her task.

"Somewhere in the Riverlands I'd say."

"So we're getting closer to Winterfell?" he was quiet for a moment and Sansa turned to look at him. He had paused in the act of running the soap bar over his arms and her stomach sank with a sick feeling. "What is it?"

"I spoke to the stable boy." he went back to washing, so Sansa turned back around. "Winterfell is gone."

Sansa froze. Her hands seemed unable to work.

"What do you mean it's gone?" she asked, her voice sturdier than she felt. Behind her she heard Sandor moving about, the water sloshing in the tub, so she didn't turn around. Her heart was beating so hard it felt as if it might burst right out of her chest.

"It's been burnt down. Winterfell is gone." 

Unable to stop herself, Sansa spun around to face him, her eyes burning. Sandor stood on the other side of the tub, a towel about his hips, but Sansa didn't care. She wasn't really seeing him.

"Who?" she was mildly surprised she wasn't crying. She was just angry. She'd heard before leaving Kings Landing of Theon taking Winterfell, and of him killing her little brothers, but she'd thought her home would still be there, that somehow they'd be able to get it back. "Who was it?"

"They say it was the Ironborn."

"Why would Theon burn it?" Sansa couldn't believe it. "He wanted it from Robb so he took it. Why would he burn down the place he'd just seized? It doesn't make sense!"

Sandor met her gaze evenly, watching her closely as she raged. And rage she did. She didn't stop there. She yelled and she screamed, she demanded answers and she demanded blood. Sandor let her, not saying anything during her tirade as he moved to the table where his cleaner clothes were. She only just remembered to turn to give him privacy in her fit of temper. By the time he was fully clothed, she was sitting on the bed, her anger deflated now, leaving her feeling hollow and bitter.

"What do we do now?" she asked him once he sat on the opposite end of the bed as her.

"What do you mean?"

"My home is gone." her voice wobbled and she clenched her eyes shut for a second, determined not to cry. She was over being weak and she wouldn't cry again. "Where will we go now?"

He was silent, thinking, and a horrible thought trickled into her mind. What if he left her now? He had agreed to take her home, presumably hoping her brother would pardon him on the grounds of saving the King in the North's sister. It was really his only hope after turning craven during the battle and committing treason by insulting the King and stealing his betrothed. But what about now? He hadn't bargained on traipsing her all across the lands, with soldiers and guards out looking for them. He would be faster alone. He could jump a boat to Essos or somewhere people didn't know him and disappear. What would she do without him? Her newfound skills with a sword not withstanding, she was at great risk being a woman alone. She didn't know the lands as well as he did, and beyond that had no clue where to go now.

"Your kingly brother is at Riverrun, at last word." Sandor finally spoke. Sansa had been so consumed with her newfound worry that she was confused by his words for a moment. "We could go there."

"How long will he stay there?" he was in a war, after all.

"Don't rightly know." Sandor sighed. "Doesn't matter, though. That's House Tully. The Blackfish, your mothers uncle, will take you in regardless. You have family there, and that's all that matters."

Sansa thought about that as they both lay down for the night. Was it all that mattered? Yes, she wanted to find her brother and her mother again, and, Gods willing, Arya as well, but that couldn't be all that mattered. Bran and Rickon were dead. Her father was dead. For the first time in her life, she wanted vengeance and felt that she had the ability to seek it out. If she were to go to Riverrun and find her great uncle there, he would hold her and not allow her to leave. If Robb was there, he would do the same. She would be kept in a tower, locked in a gilded cage, expected to preen and chirp and sing pretty songs. She would be expected to be the little bird Sandor Clegane had always mocked her for being.

She didn't want to be a useless bird anymore. Her family were direwolves, and so was she. Sandor had seen that in her. Now she just had to convince him to help her unleash it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go way AU here :)
> 
> This is just a little short one, to get me to where I need to be. I'll MAYBE post another later tonight. No promises!

Sandor woke before the sun, as usual. Sleep was once again coming easier now that he'd gotten over the sickness the lack of wine had caused. He'd stopped shaking and he'd stopped vomiting whenever he could get away from the girl. Not that he wouldn't kill a man for a flagon, but he figured it was best to refrain for now. As much as he wanted the wine, he hated the sickness the lack of it brought and didn't want to go through it again when he knew it would be another long stretch before he was in a place where it was readily available.

Rolling onto his side, he watched Sansa sleep for a few moments, the grey light from the window allowing him to see her clearly. She'd changed a lot during their time together on the run, a little physically but mostly otherwise. Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe she'd always worn a mask and he was just now starting to see the real Sansa Stark. He'd caught glimpses of her inner strength before in Kings Landing, but she'd done a good job of burying it deep to protect herself.

Before he gave into the temptation that always plagued him to touch her, he rolled out of bed and dressed before waking her.

"Wake up, girl." he nudged the mattress near her hip and she stirred, her blue eyes blinking open slowly. "We'll head out soon." he told her before leaving the room to go check on Stranger and get them something to break their fast. By the time he made it back up to their room the sun was up and the horse was ready to go, but when he unlocked the door he found her still in bed, still sleeping. Annoyance warred with an odd sense of fondness at seeing her sleeping form, rolled to her side with knees pulled up to her chest, the blankets clutched tightly under her chin. She looked younger when she slept.

"Get up you lazy child." he kicked the side of the bed and she jolted up with a yelp, her blue eyes wide and her hair wild. When she looked at him she narrowed her eyes in a glare before tossing back the covers and standing, but not before he caught a glimpse of her legs left bare to the knees by her skirts tangled up around her thighs.

It irritated him that he wanted her. He made it a point to never want anything in life. It was easier that way. He kept his needs simple. Food, the occasional sleep and fuck, wine and a good fight every now and then. Highborn girls with legs that went on for days and hair the color of fire weren't something he could afford to want. But he did want her. Had since he first laid eyes on her back at Winterfell so long ago. He'd always consoled himself with the fact that she was shallow and vain and annoying without a single relevant thought in her pretty head. At first she'd given him no indication he was wrong. But he still watched, and kept looking, just to make certain and eventually he saw the cracks in her façade. She was putting on a show for all those Lords and Ladies of court. Now she was fully herself around him. She was neither shallow nor vain, and although she could be annoying every now and again, she had plenty of relevant thoughts in that pretty head of hers.

"I'm not a child." she grumbled, looking very much like an upset toddler as she stalked out of the bed and went to the table where she picked up her brush and started to tame her hair.

"We need to get moving. And you need to train before we do." She shot him another glare, but didn't argue as she finished up plaiting her hair. Together they ate a quick breakfast before going out behind the stables to train. She was doing well. Far better then he'd thought she'd do so soon. She as a quick learner and a good listener. He, on the other hand, had a hard time focusing while they sparred because her damned dress seemed like it was going to split its seams any second. The girl had grown since they'd left, and he'd noticed. She'd been a woman flowered for a while before they'd left Kings Landing, but now she didn't just look almost a woman. Now she looked fully a woman.

They found an armory before leaving the town, trading one of the broad swords for a short sword and to make up the difference the smith had his apprentice clean and repair Sandor's armor. The short sword wasn't exactly an offensive weapon, but then again someone Sansa's size would never do well against an experienced swordsman in any offensive measures. She was just too small and too inexperienced. The short sword would do her far more justice.

They travelled just off the Kings Road, now towards Riverrun. Sansa had fleetingly tried to convince him she didn't want to go there. Something about wanting to fight, to seek vengeance for her family and her home. Sandor had told her it was a stupid idea. There was only two of them. One really, since she wouldn't be much use in a battle. It was best to take her to her family, whether it be her brother and mother or her uncle. She'd been angered at him because of it, giving him the cold shoulder for a full day. She couldn't keep it up, though. Another thing he'd come to realize about Sansa Stark was that she craved companionship.

"You told me once that you wanted to kill your brother." she risked, breaking her self imposed silence.

Sandor glared at her where she sat in his lap on the horse. He'd been beyond drunk the night he told her of what Gregor had done to him, and he regretted it. No one knew, beyond the whispered rumors, and he preferred it that way.

"Don't talk to me about that." he warned her.

"I'm not." she assured him gently. "I just...you know what it feels like to want redemption."

"It's not redemption I seek in killing Gregor." he snapped. "And there's nothing to redeem yourself from in killing anyone. You've done nothing in need of redemption. It's vengeance you seek, vengeance I seek. It matters little, in any case. I agreed to take you to your brother, and so I'm taking you to your fucking brother."

It would be another fortnight before they heard the news. They'd stopped in a village to get her supplies for her moons blood, which contrary to what she seemed to believe, didn't bother him. Women bled. Blood didn't bother him. They'd scarcely been in town for a moment before someone had spoken of the Red Wedding and how the Young Wolf had been killed. How Catelyn Stark had begged for her sons life before her throat was slit. How Robb's head had been replaced with his direwolf's. Sansa had impressed him. She showed no outward reaction to the news other then going pale. Sandor thought he seen her eyes start to water, but she turned from the man who'd been talking, shut her eyes for a brief moment, and had come back completely blank. And she'd stayed completely blank, even as the days passed. She didn't speak to him, didn't cry, didn't demand answers. And she didn't eat or sleep. He wasn't sure how much longer she could continue like this.

"We could go to the Eyrie." he offered one day as they were riding. She didn't answer, or look at him, just nodded. "You have an aunt there. Your mothers sister." At the mention of her mother, she closed her eyes briefly. It wasn't much, but it was more of a reaction than he'd been getting from her. And she'd been flat out refusing to spar with him.

"Look, girl, you've got to go somewhere." he swallowed against what he was fixing to say, already feeling a little guilty, but he figured she needed an outlet for her emotions. Whether it be crying or screaming or anger, he'd take it. Again, she said nothing. "Lysa Arryn just might be the only family you have left. Your father is dead. Your mother is dead. Your brothers have all been killed. You have a bastard on the Wall that wants nothing to do with you and a bitch sister that is probably half way to Braavos by now who left without you. What do you think you're going..." he was cut off by her swift and somewhat unexpected reaction of turning on him, her small hands coming up to fist his mail shirt, having left off his armor.

"Shut your mouth!" she shouted at him, her blue eyes blazing. "Just shut up! I've never once met Lysa Arryn and she is not my family." Sansa began pounding against his chest without releasing his mail. "Robb was my family! Bran and Rickon were my family! Arya is my family! And they are gone, Sandor!" her voice broke then, her eyes filled with tears and her pounding stopped. "They're gone and so is my home. I have no one and I have nothing." she let her hands fall from him to her lap, head bowed. Her weeping surprised him. Not that he didn't think she wouldn't cry, but it was how she cried that surprised him. It was soft and nearly silent and it struck something inside of him he thought was long ago dead. He had not one single clue of how to comfort her, but he'd seen Cersei comfort Myrcella before, so he awkwardly hooked the arm he wasn't using to hold the reins around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. She came willingly and he regretted still wearing the mail because he knew it wasn't comforting to rest her cheek against, but she neither complained nor pulled away.

It seemed like hours before her body stilled from the silent sobs that shook her, and when it did, she went limp against him. He readjusted her so that her stolen cloak rested between his chain and her skin and he held her while she slept and rode through the rest of the day. After she'd finally broke down, she seemed better. She cried several more times, but she seemed stronger, more herself. She was actually dealing with it instead of just forcing herself to be numb against it. They'd also resumed training. Something of which she took to with far greater enthusiasm than she had before.

"Take it easy, girl." he told her one evening as she came at him savagely, nearly hurting herself in her wild wielding of the short sword.

"Sansa." she snapped at him, breathing hard. "My name is Sansa. Please stop calling me girl. I'm not a child." No. She wasn't a child. Hadn't been for a long time now.

"Well, _Sansa_ , you're going to cut your fucking ear off if you keep swinging that sword like that. Blind anger will get you killed."

"You're the angriest person I've ever met." she informed him. "You're still alive."

"I fight with anger, aye, but not blind rage." he sheathed his sword and she did the same. "Every move I make is calculated. And I have one particular advantage on you, Lady Sansa."

"And what is that?" she asked sneeringly, wiping sweat from her brow. He wondered if anyone else had ever seen the Lady Sansa Stark sneer and sweat before.

"I'm at least twice your size, if not more. And I outmuscle most men as well. Blind rage generally works in the favor of the person whose bigger." he leaned in to sneer in her face. "I'm always bigger."

"Ser Gregor is bigger than you." Sansa said, then winced at her own words at the same time he snapped upright. "I'm sorry." she said quickly. "I'm so sorry. That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have..."

"No." he stopped her. "You're right. He is. That's why blind rage will never work against him." Sandor wasn't sure any sort of fighting would turn out in his advantage if he ever got the chance to fight Gregor, but it didn't mean he wouldn't give it his damnedest when that day came.

After they made camp and ate supper, Sandor rolled out their bedrolls as Sansa started a fire. He hated doing it, so she'd had him show her how to do it after their first week together and she'd been doing it ever since. Once they lay down, side by side, Sansa rolled to face him.

"Sandor, what are we doing now?" It took Sandor a moment to realize what she was asking him, and what she wasn't.

"There's still Lady Arryn." he reminded her.

"The Bolton's hold Winterfell now." she said softly, repeating what they'd heard in the last town. "I want it back."

"And how would you presume to do that?"

"I am Lady Sansa of House Stark. Princess in the North, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and sister to the late King Robb." her voice had taken on a haughty tone and he couldn't help but grin. He liked when she spoke like that.

"The North remembers." This time her voice was near a growl and when he looked over at her the blues of her eyes flashed. "And winter is coming. The Northernmen will never follow Bolton, especially after what he's done to my family. There must be houses still loyal to the Stark name. Manderly, Karstark, Mormont, Umber, Reed. Surely they'll follow me into battle."

"Battle against who?"

"The Bolton's and whoever else is holding Winterfell."

"And join what army of yours?" he questioned, and she fell silent.

"The North's army. Their men."

Sandor rolled to his back and stared up at the canopy above them.

"They'll want you to marry. Each of them will demand your hand to one of their sons."

"And I will do so." she said firmly and he scowled. "After I hold Winterfell again."

"Many of those men lost their lives with your brother at the Twins." he reminded her, not liking the thought of her married off to some Northern Lord. "Most Houses loyal to your name have been dismantled."

"Then we must reach Riverrun." she said after a pause.

"That place is still under attack." he snapped.

"But the Blackfish is there. He still holds it. Like you said, he is my uncle."

Sandor didn't like the idea, but in all honesty, he didn't have another one. So when they awoke the next morning, they headed for Riverrun, which was just a few days ride away. They went to the gates at night, thinking it safer from the Lannisters and Freys still trying to take it. One word on who she was, and they were led in to see Brynden Tully. After a rather impressive speech given to him by Sansa, Sandor had been spared a beheading but was still being watched closely by the Blackfish. Not that he could really blame the old man.

Sandor was put in a room far from Sansa, or so it seemed. He actually had no idea where she slept. Neither did it really matter. His door was guarded and he would be beheaded in a second if he was found going to her. His bed felt too large and far too cold without her body close. He'd gotten used to her being nearby for so long. He saw her every morning and every evening in the dinning hall. She refused to listen to her uncle and sat next to him. They spoke little, though, but he could tell she was unhappy with the way things were going. What had she expected? Tully wasn't going to send her into battle and Sandor would have killed the Blackfish even if he had. She was angry, he understood that, but she wasn't ready for that.

They were there for a week when she finally convinced her uncle to let her train. There were hardly any soldiers left here, having mostly all died at the Red Wedding and those who had stayed were falling to the continued siege against the castle. She had also insisted on Sandor being the only one to train with her, and the Blackfish had relented, possibly out of the need to focus on more important things. But he did come to watch her on the third day. He seemed more impressed with Sandor then with Sansa, and suddenly Sandor was training what was left of the army. Sansa begged him not to fight.

"And why shouldn't I?" he'd asked her.

"You could die." she stared up at him like that was the most obvious answer in the world.

"You want to fight as well. You could die." he countered.

"But I'm not fighting." Sandor would have thanked the Gods for that if he'd believed in them at all.

"No, you're not." he touched her cheek before he could stop himself. "So let me fight for you." Sansa's eyes widened, her lips opening slightly. He went to pull his hand away, but it was as if the silken heat of her skin had captured his fingers. Then her hand floated up, started to cup his hand, and he came to his senses, ripping his hand away from her.

"Stay where it's safe, girl." he called over his shoulder as he followed her uncle's army out of the castle. He hadn't fought an actual battle in so long, and it felt good. It felt great, cutting down men wearing Lannister red that he could pretend were Joffrey even though they'd heard the news the little cunt had choked to death at his own bloody wedding.

That's when he came face to face and blade to blade with the Kingslayer. Jaime fucking Lannister, now lacking a hand but not his overly confident grin. Sandor was ready to empty the mans guts on the ground when the big blonde bitch had hit him from the side, knocking him off balance. At first he wasn't even sure she was a woman, but it didn't matter when her blade was coming at him just as hard and heavy as any mans would. So he'd fought back as if he were fighting any other man until Brynden Tully had called a halt to the fighting and agreed to a parlay with Jaime. When the blonde beast turned to leave, he caught her ankle with his foot and tripped her before turning and going back into the castle.

Parlays were for Lords and Knights. He couldn't speak of peace or treaties or come to truces. He was a warrior. He fought and he killed. Besides, maybe he could find Sansa and flee before the Lannister's found her here.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa didn't know what to think when the guards came for her in her locked room. They told her they were going to see her uncle and his guests in the solar, but Sansa had a queer feeling in her stomach so she'd strapped the short sword on her back like Sandor had showed her, the hilt at one hip, the blade spanding across her lower back inside it's scabbard, and put on her cloak to hide it. The guards seemed confused at her choice of outerwear, but neither commented as they led her through the corridors and into the solar. She hoped that Sandor was there. For some reason, she felt safer when he was around. He was the only person anymore that she knew had no self motivated reasoning's of keeping her safe. And she trusted him.

Coming into the solar, she immediately took notice of his absence. Then, just as quickly, took notice of the presence of the man standing next to her uncle and her blood ran cold. He was just as gorgeous as she'd always remembered him being, even without his hand. As casually as she could, she placed her hands behind her back, one grasping the hilt of her sword as she shakily curtsied.

"Uncle Brynden." she greeted her uncle, keeping her eye on Jaime, casting a glance at the massive blonde woman standing at his left. She wore the armor of a knight, and carried a sword and was watching Sansa with a kind and soft expression.

"Sansa, dear, you know Ser Jaime." The Blackfish didn't seem happy to be introducing him.

"Lannister." she added a bit acidly but Jaime merely smiled. "You killed Jory Cassel."

"I've killed lots of men." he said silkily. Brynden glared down at Jaime for a long moment before looking back at Sansa.

"Ser Jaime has come to me with a claim of peace." Sansa lifted a brow at that, keeping hold of her sword. The day she trusted a Lannister again was the day she slit her own throat.

"It is Lady Brienne that has requested the peace." Jaime clarified, motioning to the tall woman beside him. "Lady Sansa, this is Brienne of Tarth." Brienne stepped forward and bowed, which Sansa found mildly humorous since she was a woman.

"Lady Sansa." Brienne looked at her. "You have no idea how good it is to see you alive and well. I've been searching for you." Sansa lifted her chin, surprised, then cast her eyes back to Jaime.

"I am alive and well, yet no thanks can be given to your companion for either of those things. I recall several times were he stood idly by while his nephew had me beaten." she was only somewhat satisfied when Jaime cast his eyes downward. She looked back at Brienne. "What is it you want from me?" she asked the other woman.

"Nothing, My Lady." Brienne looked uncomfortable at Sansa's harshness. Sansa refused to care. "I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark to protect her..."

"You did a poor job." Sansa interrupted her and swore she heard the Blackfish stiffle a chuckle. Brienne flushed.

"She sent me to Kings Landing before the wedding, My Lady, I had no idea of what would befall her." Sansa held her silence, still holding her sword. Brienne was large, close even to Sandor's size, although not as bulky. She would have to be quick. "Before I left, I swore another oath to her. An oath to bring back her daughters." Sansa felt her eyes sting, but she wouldn't cry.

"It seems, Lady Brienne, that you've failed in that oath as well." Sansa said firmly. "I have no mother to be brought back to. And Arya is far gone now."

"I am no Lady." Brienne said softly. "And I'm aware of your mothers death. But I will keep my word to her and allow no harm to come to you. I swear to you, Lady Sansa, I will protect you with my life."

"I don't want your oaths, Brienne. And I have no need of your protection. I have a protector of my own. One that has been with me since before I left Kings Landing. One that protected me even from Joffrey's cruelty. And he has done a far better job of keeping me safe then you did my mother, and Renly before her." Sansa felt a tinge of guilt at the pain that flashed in Brienne's eyes, but she kept going. "So you'll excuse me for declining your offer."

"Sansa." Her uncle called her name and Sansa looked past Brienne and up to where he stood. His blue eyes, so like her mothers and her own, held her own and within them a hint of pride.

"Who is this you speak of, Lady Sansa?" Jaime asked, cutting Brynden off from whatever he was about to say. "Is it The Hound?" his voice was full of amusement and Sansa leveled him with her best icy stare, the one she got from her mother. "Was he your knight in shinning armor?"

"He is no knight, Ser, but he saved me all the same." she said cooly. "And his armor may not be as shinning as yours, but he was the only person who showed me any kindness in that cruel place. Not your nephew, or your sister, or any of the so called knights in their golden armor who beat me and stripped me. So, yes, Sandor Clegane was my non knight when I needed one the most."

"We're getting off course here." Brynden stepped in. "Neither Clegane's loyalty or lack thereof was to be questioned. Or the Tarth womans oaths. This was about stratagy and alliances."

"Alliances?" Sansa glared at her uncle. "You can't possibly be forming an alliance with the Lannisters."

"No." Brynden said firmly. "I'm forming an alliance with a man and an army that will allow you to regain your home. That will put a Stark back in Winterfell."

"But that man is the Kingslayer and that army is Lannister men." Sansa argued.

"I haven't brought you here to discuss war stratagy, niece." Brynden gave her a warning glare.

"My army isn't the Lannister army." Jaime added. "These men follow her." he tilted his head to Brienne.

"Why?"

"Because she has a purpose, and men tend to follow those with a noble one." Sansa didn't believe him.

"Forgive me, Ser, but I think most men tend to follow a more self centered purpose. Or gold." she lifted a brow and Jaime smiled. He was stunning.

"Sellswords are still swords, Sansa." Brydned reminded her. "And if you are to regain the North, you will need plenty of swords." behind her she heard commotion and turned in time to see the doors burst open and Sandor storm in, two guards trailing in his wake.

"We tried to stop him, my Lord." one guard said to Brynden.

"What in the buggering hells in going on?" Sandor bellowed, sword already drawn and glaring at Jaime. He didn't stop in his stride until he was beside her.

"So the knight in shinning armor arrives." Jaime chuckled and Sandor took another step towards him, lifting his sword, but Sansa put a hand on his arm to stop him just as Brienne drew her sword and stepped between him and Jaime.

"And I see you've got your own bloody knight to save you, Kingslayer." Sandor spat.

"Far prettier then the one Lady Sansa must endure looking at."

"Not by far." Sandor sneered.

"Clegane, please, restrain yourself." Blackfish sounded bored and Sansa tugged on his arm to pull him back.

"Yes, Lady Sansa, please. Keep your dog on a leash." Jaime goaded one last time, but Sandor just growled. At first Brynden wanted Sandor to leave, as did Jaime and Brienne, but Sansa would hear non of it. If he went, so did she. And they needed her, if only in name. And as much as Jaime liked to taunt him, he knew full well what an asset a soldier like Sandor Clegane would be.

They were up the rest of the night discussing plans on what would be done. Brynden had one demand out of it all. His nephew, Edmure Tully, was still being held by the Frey's at the Twins. He wanted him back, along with his wife and unborn child. Sansa tossed in one of her own. She wanted Walder Frey's head. Jaime had laughed at that, Brynden had agreed, and Sandor had told her she would have it.

"The strongest house left loyal to the Starks in now the Raventree Hall." Jaime told them. "Lord Tytos Blackwood will fight for your cause." he spoke to Brynden.

"For what cost?" he asked.

"Nothing, I suspect. Lord Blackwood is an honorable man and very loyal to the Starks." he glanced at Sansa and an amused grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. "Although a advantages marriage of his eldest son wouldn't hurt anything. Not to mention Winterfell will need heirs and a Lord. Aligning your House with theirs would be a smart move."

"I'm not courting for a husband, Ser." Sansa said firmly. "We are at war."

"He's right, Sansa." her uncle argued and Sansa glared at him.

"Have you not told them, uncle?" she said firmly. "That you have Robb Starks widow here? And that she is pregnant. If she is to give birth to a son, Winterfell will be his, not mine. I will only rule in his name until he comes of age."

"That is a long way off, My Lady." Jaime said easily, obviously not caring about Jeyne's condition. "Of course Winterfell will go to Robb's son, if it is a son. But as of now, you will be Wardeness of the North. And Winterfell will still need heirs."

"If I marry a Blackwood or a Karstark or a Glover, my children will be their heirs, not mine. My sons will inheirit their fathers titles and lands, not mine. If I were to marry, I will become the lady of my husbands house, no longer the lady of my own. So, no. I will not marry. Not right now. Not until Winterfell is firmly in my grasp again. And if the day comes that I want to marry, I will decide my husband. Not a Lannister."

"What do you get out of this, Kingslayer?" Sandor spoke for the first time since they started going over the details.

"I could ask you the same thing, Turncloak."

"I wear no ones cloak." Sandor growled.

"No, but you were your Kings sworn shield." Jaime cocked his head to the side and studied his face. "And that King is dead. Seems you failed in your duties, and for what? What was it, Clegane, that turned such a loyal dog? Could it have been you scented a pretty cunt?" Sandor was out of his chair before Jaime finished talking, his sword flush against Jaime's throat. In the same second Brienne's sword was on Sandor's. Before Brynden could make a move, Sansa was standing as well, her short sword pressed firmly against the big woman's pulse point. Everyone but Sandor seemed surprised by that.

"Take your sword away from his neck, Brienne." Sansa said firmly. "Now." The woman looked out of the corner of her eye to Jaime who gave her a nod of his head and she lowered her sword so Sansa lowered hers. Sandor held the point of his blade a moment longer to Jaime's throat.

"Speak of her like that again, Lannister, and I'll open your throat and see if you bleed red or gold." with that he lowered his blade and sat back down. Tentatively, Sansa and Brynden sat back down as well.

"I never swore to your... _nephew_." Sandor rasped out. "And he never asked it of me. I was loyal, aye, but even a dog has limits and mine were seen at that hands of that boy king. I found another more worthy of my loyalty." he leaned forward slightly. "Now answer me. What do you get out of this? You, a fucking Lannister, siding with a Stark? Was it not your family that had hers killed?"

"Redemption." Jaime finally said, his face and voice far more serious then she'd ever seen him before. "A chance to prove my worth of the title of Knight."

"A knight is nothing more than a glorified killer, a sword with a ribbon on it." he glanced at Jaime's golden hand resting on the table pointedly. "Do her better, and prove your worth as a man instead."

Sansa left the solar with Sandor late that night.

"You don't trust him." she said to him as they walked the corridor back to her room, two guards following behind them.

"I've never trusted a knight." he told her. "And I never will, but I think he's speaking true. And the big bitch seems honest enough in her cause, even if she is lusting after the lion." he grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop, snarling at the guards that followed them unitl they backed off slightly. "Don't trust any of them." he told her. "No one. Trust in you and you alone."

"I trust you." she whispered and Sandor fliched, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're not going to betray me, I know it. You've done more for me than anyone ever has. And I want your opinion. What should I do?"

"I'm a soldier, My Lady." he rasped. "Not a war general. I know nothing of tactics and strategy."

"I'm not asking you as a war general, Sandor." she sighed in exasperation. "I'm asking you as my friend. Someone who actually has a concern in my well being. _My_ well being, not their own personal gain from it." Sandor was silent for a long time, an unreadable expression in his wild grey eyes.

"It's a good plan." he finally answered. "The best you have, anyway. Jaime Lannister is a lot of things, but a fool is not one of them. And I believe him." he knelt slightly to even up their heights better. "I made you a promise, little bird. I'll get you back to Winterfell. And I'll kill anyone who gets in your way."

"No." she met his gaze firmly. " _We_ will kill anyone who gets in _our_ way."

It was early morning when they met with the soldiers in the training yard. Jaime had come in under the guise of leading a group of Lannister soldiers, but they weren't. They were mostly sellswords, but it had fooled the Freys and the actual Lannisters that watched the castle. And it gave them enough men to break through and kill or run off those that lingered around. It also gave them the opening they needed to get to Raventree Hall. They were welcomed with a great gathering and feast, something Sansa hadn't had in a long time. Something she found she didn't miss. She was trussed up in a fine dress and her hair styled just perfectly and was sat on the diasis and was given toast after toast.

"To Lady Sansa Stark." one man yelled out above the din, his wine goblet sloshing. "The rightful heir to Winterfell."

"The Wardeness of the North."

"The Queen in the North." Sansa balked at the last toast, her stomach diving.

"No." she said firmly, rising from her seat. "I am no queen, please. King was a title my father never wanted, nor my brother. It is not royalty I seek. Just my home."

It was another hour before her uncle Brynden deemed it polite for her to retire. She found Sandor's eye in the crowd as she did, which was fairly easy as he was sitting at the table just below hers and had risen when she had. He met her at the bottom steps of the stage, his eyes cast behind her. She turned to find Brienne behind her.

"May I escort you back to your chambers, My Lady?"

"No, thank you, Brienne." Sansa still wasn't certain of the other woman. She seemed so loyal to Jaime Lannister, and anything to do with the Lannister's made her uneasy. Brienne looked wounded but nodded her understanding and went back to stand near Jaime.

"You'll break her heart if you keep refusing her." Sandor said as they walked out of the great hall.

"May I ask you something?" she asked hesitantly as the climbed the stairwell.

"Was that not a question?"

"Be serious." she smiled up at him and he almost grinned.

"What is it?"

"What will you do after this is all over?" He was quiet for a long time so she added, "I'd be glad to have you at Winterfell, you must know."

"And do what?" Sansa thought for a moment.

"Command the garrison, or be my sworn shield, although I wouldn't require you to swear any oaths." she knew how he felt about oaths.

"You don't want a craven as your garrison commandor. And once you have a husband you will have no use of a sworn shield." Sansa swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. Did he just not want to stay with her?

"You are no craven." she said softly. "And I don't plan on marriage at all."

"Your uncle made it quite clear that you were to marry Blackwood."

"Brynden Tully has no say in when or who I marry."

"Winterfell needs a Lord, and heirs. Who will it pass to if you have no children?" his cold tone hurt something in her chest but Sansa pushed it away. He was right, again. She would have to marry and bare children, if only for Winterfell.

"What does it matter?" She asked bitterly. "If I marry Blackwood, my children will not be Starks. They will be Blackwoods and I will no longer be Lady of Winterfell."

"You're thinking of it differently than they are. Lord Tytos will take the marriage to mean that his son will become Lord of Winterfell. He has other sons that will inherit Raventree." Sansa was quite as they finished their walk to her room. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than the Starks of Winterfell. Blackwood's of Winterfell just seemed...wrong. Robb was supposed to become the Lord, or if not him Bran or even Rickon. How in the Seven did she end up in this position with three brothers?

"Did no one tell you, little bird, that being a highborn lady came with it's own sacrifices?"

"I always assumed my sacrifice would be marrying a handsome prince and baring him children." she smiled. "I hadn't realized the sacrifice was so much more." and not for the first time, she found herself wishing she'd been born low born. Sandor's eyes softened, more so than she'd thought possible, and within them she found a storm of emotion. His usual rage and anger whirling with past guilt and shame, and the constant heat she'd noticed there since they'd been traveling together, simmering just below the surface. He lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek like he had before, but stopped himself. She wished he hadn't.

"Get some rest, girl." he turned back around. "The morning will come quickly and it will be a busy day."

The morning did come quickly, the knocking on her door pulling her from dreams she didn't want to wake from. She hadn't been sleeping well since they'd arrived at Riverrun. She felt cold and lonely without Sandor close. During their moons together there had been several times that she had awoken to his large body wrapped around hers, his chest embracing her back, his legs curving under hers, one heavily muscled arm slung over her waist. Once he'd even been cupping her breast. Sansa felt shamed to admit she had enjoyed the feeling, but he would move quickly as soon as he awoke, but not before she felt his desire pressed against her. There were also times, maybe more frequently, that she would wake up with herself wrapped up against him. Her front pressed against his side, her leg over his waist and her arm over his chest. She could remember the sound of his steady heartbeat under her ear, the sense of utter safety at being with him. There was a time she had woken up like that in the middle of the night and he'd been holding her hand on his chest, another when he'd been holding onto her bare calf at his hip. Now she awoke bereft of his body and his touch and shivered at the coldness. Rising from the featherbed, she pulled on a robe and went to the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It is Brienne, My Lady." Sansa sighed, but figured it was inevitable to see the warrior woman again so she unbolted the door and opened it to her.

"Please, Lady Brienne, come in." Brienne bowed slightly, her arms full, and stepped inside. Sansa closed the door behind her and motioned for her to sit at the table.

"Thank you, My Lady, but I have brought you a gift before I am to be at the training yard." she sat the large packaging onto the table.

"What is it for?" Sansa asked, staring at it.

"It's for you, My Lady." Brienne shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks heating. At least Sansa wasn't the only one who blushed at the drop of a pin. "Lord Tully has told Ser Jaime and I about your training with Ser Clegane."

"He is not a knight." Sansa grinned. "It would do you well not to call him that."

"Of course, My Lady." Brienne nodded. "Lord Tully told us about your training with Clegane. I heard the want in your voice when we spoke of taking the Twins. You wont be allowed to fight in the actual battles, I know, but I thought this might be a boast for your moral. And for the moral of your men. I had the smith working on it all night." Brienne grinned. "He was not a happy man." Curious despite her distrust for the woman, Sansa went to the table and started untying the cloth that covered the box. Lifting the lid, Brienne spoke again.

"I received your measurements from the seamstress. She said she just measured you for new dresses so they were accurate." Sansa gasped when she looked into the box, then slowly dropped a hand to trace her finger over the lines of it. It looked to be a corset, but made to look like armor. Steal and gleaming, direwolves racing down the center piece, figil surrounding them. Sansa picked it up out of the box, noticing the small fish that danced over each hip. She fingered one.

"I thought you might like a bit of your mother on it. To help you remember her." Sansa couldn't speak for a moment, her throat too tight. She swallowed several times before she felt confident enough.

"Thank you, Brienne." she looked up at the tall woman. "It's lovely. Beautiful. I can't possibly thank you enough."

"No thanks is needed, My Lady." Brienne flushed again. "If you would like to dress, I'll help you put it on. To make sure it fits properly." Sitting the armored corset back down, Sansa dressed in a dark grey dress that would look best with the gleaming steal of the corset, then allowed Brienne to help her in buckling the armor on. It felt heavy against her hips, but not uncomfortably so. Oddly enough, she felt an immediate sense of power with it on.

"Fit's perfectly." Brienne sounded pleased.

"How in the world do you wear all that metal?" Sansa laughed, touching the direwolf she deemed Lady on her waist.

"Is it uncomfortable? If it is, there is no need for you to..."

"No, Lady Brienne, it is fine." Sansa assured her. "I just can't imagine much more."

"It takes some getting used to, My Lady." Brienne smiled. "And I am no lady."

"It may be a title that you do not want, Brienne, but nevertheless, you are the Lady of Tarth."

"What sort of lady doesn't want to be a lady?" she half grumbled and Sansa couldn't help but smile.

"My sister." she said cheerfully, a little wistfully. "She would like you. And I hope," Sansa looked down, feeling the tears starting to rise again. "I hope she would be proud of me. Of the strength I'm trying to find." She touched the wolf that raced the opposite direction as Lady on her armor. Nymeria, she decided. She would carry the female direwolves on her waist while she avenged her brothers and their wolves.

Today was the day they started for the Twins and Walder Frey. Sansa followed her uncle and Jaime into the training yard where the soldiers were waiting, Jaime's sellswords, her uncles army, as well as the new soldiers provided by the Blackwoods. Sansa knew nothing about warfare, but her uncle and Jaime seemed confident there was enough men to take the Twins and Sansa trusted in that, at least. When she stepped out onto the ledge of the walkway between Jaime and Brynden, the men all started cheering loudly. Sansa felt herself blush deeply and was glad for the distance between herself and the men. She glanced up at her uncle and he smiled at her proudly.

"They are your men, Sansa." he told her. "Speak to them." Sansa froze, terrified. She had no idea what to say.

"They want encouragment." Jaime said from the other side of her. "They need to be reminded of what they're willing to die for." The yells and chants and cheering of the men was still going on so to quite them, Sansa lifted her hand. Almost immediately they fell silent. She scanned the faces of those men before she spoke, easily finding Sandor off to the side towards the front. He stood head and shoulders taller than the lesser men, save for Brienne who stood near him, and he was watching her with enough intensity she swore she felt it.

"My father knew how to speak to soldiers." she started off. "And my brother Robb after him. If they were here today, they would know exactly what to say to you to give you all the encouragement and strength you need." she paused, swallowed hard. "But they are not here. There is nothing we can do about the men who have taken Lord Eddard Starks head, the Gods seen to him when he was murdered at his own wedding. But there is something we can do about the men who killed my brother. _Your_ King. The man who welcomed your brothers and sons and fathers into his home, who fed them and gave them drink. The man who then locked them in and murdered them. Who burnt them alive in tents and filled them full of arrows."

Sansa had to pause to compose herself when she was panting hard from anger, but there were men calling out agreement as she spoke, so she kept going.

"Walder Frey is sitting happily at the Twins with his young wife and all his children, without a care in the world while our men are rotting in the ground. He had my brothers head cut off and replaced it with his direwolf's." Sansa fumed. "I will give Walder Frey no such honor. I will not give him the benefit of having something as powerful and majestic as that rest on his shoulders. I will have Walder Frey's head, and I will have his body burnt for all his children to see." That had even louder cheers from the men and Sansa waited until the quieted again.

"The Frey's are sitting warm in their castle, but winter is coming." she grasped the bannister in front of her so hard her knuckles turned white. "And I have not forgotten what they have done to my brother. To my mother. We have not forgotten what they have done to our men. The North remembers."


	4. Chapter 4

The men supplied by Lord Tytos Blackwood proved to be fair soldiers, and the number they added to the ranks wasn't something to overlook. Sansa needed bodies for her army, and Blackwood had given them that.

Sandor was impressed with Sansa's speech. She spoke with passion and anger and it translated over. The men felt it and fed off of it. Even the sellswords. Talk of her beauty wasn't new. He'd been hearing of it since before he even met her. But looking up at her on that walkway, speaking with such passion and fire, wearing that damned armored corset like a knights wet dream, and he figured he had all hells coming in enduring the lewd talk of her. His fist was bound to get tired knocking in all those teeth. To his surprise, and relief, it never came. The men spoke of her with this awed sense of reverence and respect. The few times on the march to the Twins that a man had said something that crossed a line, Sandor only had to sit back and watch as the whole of the army tore into them. Sansa, whether she realized it or not, was loved and respected by her men. And they were her men, regardless of who was technically leading the army. It made him feel somewhat better that he wasn't the only sorry sod that was willing to die for her.

Sansa rode at the front of the brigade with the Blackfish, Lannister, and Blackwood. And much to many peoples annoyance, she insisted he rode alongside her.

"He's her sworn shield." Tully had explained at Lord Tytos's mildly concerned expression. Sansa seemed uncaring, but didn't dispute her uncles words and neither did Sandor. He figured it was more true than it had been with Joffrey, or Cersei before him. He hadn't taken any oaths with either of them, but he hadn't made them the same promises he had Sansa, which he figured could be considered oaths.

It was nightfall when they made it to the final camp before reaching the Twins, visible just down the hill and a cross a valley. Here Sansa would stay with a small guard while the army lay siege to the castle the next night, far enough away for escape should they fail. She held a meeting that night with the generals and commanders, and as always, she insisted Sandor be there with her, although no one questioned it now that he was thought to be, or now that he was, her sworn shield. She listened with quiet intent as Jamie and Brynden plotted out the attack in fine detail on the map laid out across the table, nodding occasionally, asking questions when she didn't understand something, or where she had concern. Her uncle seemed proud of that fact. Jaime seemed annoyed that his plans were being questioned. But taking the Twins was never part of his plans. He'd only come with the Tarth woman to help Sansa get Winterfell back. It was Sansa and Brynden Tully's idea to take the Twins. It was their family that had been lost that night.

"Is it up to snuff, My Lady?" Jaime asked sardonically, his golden hand resting on the table by his hip. Sansa paced the length of the table, eyeing the map with her arms crossed, her face focused.

"Warfare is your game, Ser Jaime." she finally relented, raising her eyes to him. "There is just one change I want made. One thing I demand."

"And what is that?" Jaime asked smoothly, that flirtatious smile on his face that Sandor would gladly ground into the mud.

"Walder Frey is to be left alive." The second the words left her mouth choas errupted, men arguing and yelling, each trying to talk over the other. Sandor raised his brow at her when she looked back at him, confused at her words but she just gave him a half grin.

"Enough." she called above the rest and the men settled some. "Walder Frey will die, rest assured. But it will be I that will take is head. No one else." A stunned silence fell over the tent. Sandor felt his gut clench painfully at the thought of her in the battle, but knew that the Blackfish would never allow it.

"My Lady." Tytos Blackwood was the first to speak. "You are not a soldier. You cannot expect to be..."

"No, Lord Blackwood, I don't expect to fight." she cut him off before he finished and Sandor relaxed and seen that her uncle did as well. "That is not what I am asking. This is not something I expect you to understand, My Lord." she paced closer to him, then paused with her hand resting on the table beside her.

"It isn't the way here, but it is the way in the North. The man to pass the judgement is the man to swing the sword. That was my father's way. My brothers. If I am to be Wardeness of the North, then it shall be my was as well. I pass judgement on Walder Frey. I sentence him to die, so I will be the one to take his head."

"Sansa." her uncle stepped up next to her, his voice softer then Sandor had ever heard it before. "I understand your want, but all these men have lost something to the Frey's."

"Not as much as I have." she said quickly, fiercely. "Not as much as the North has. And I am the North. It is not a question, Uncle. It is a command. During the siege, Walder Frey is to be taken and kept alive. When the fighting is done, I will be sent for. And it will be I that swings that sword."

Sandor found her behind her tent later that night, over looking the valley where the outline of the Twins could be made out against the night sky.

"You don't approve of my decision." she said as he came to stand next to her.

"You are in less need of my approval than anyone I could imagine." She looked up at him in the darkness, but he had grown used to seeing things in the night after years of battles in it. He could easily see the fear inside her eyes. A fear for some reason she only showed him. It struck him hard, made his chest ache.

"Will you stay behind tomorrow night?" she asked, but he could tell she held no hope in the tone of her voice.

"No." he looked away from the way the fear grew in her eyes. "I'll ride with the Blackfish."

"The front lines." Sansa whispered. "I thought as my sworn shield you had to stay with me." Sandor looked down at her and scowled.

"You want to kill those men down there, do you not?" he asked her, pointing down at the castle. Sansa followed his finger and nodded. "Well, you can't, girl. You're not a soldier. You're too damned important to the bloody North to go and die. So let me be your sword. Let me bloody well fight in your stead. Let my sword arm be yours and let it bring those bastards to their justice for what they've done to your family. And don't ask me to stay." Sansa turned her body towards his, looking up at him, her blue eyes turned black by the night, shimmering in the moon light. He bit the sides of his tongue, waiting for her to ask him to stay. If she did, he would. There wasn't a fucking thing this girl would ask of him that he wouldn't do.

"I'm scared, Sandor." her whispered confession took the air right out of him.

"I know." he said, lifting a hand to drop onto her shoulder, trying to be comforting.

"If you die..." her soft voice trailed off.

"I'm not dying, little bird." he moved his hand up to grasp her chin and forced her to look at him. "I'm taking you to Winterfell, remember? And I told you that you would have Walder Frey's head." her hand came up and grasped his wrist, pulling his hand until he was cupping her cheek, her hand pressing his into her skin. Her eyes closed. His stomach pulled tight.

"I dream of you, Sandor Clegane." she kept her eyes closed as she spoke and he thought his heart had stopped beating. "Of all those days we spent together." she opened her eyes and pinned him with a stare. "You are not allowed to die down there. You are not allowed to leave me. I will not have Walder Frey take another person from me." Sandor didn't say anything. He couldn't think of a single word to say. She didn't want him to leave her, but he would eventually have to. Not tomorrow night. He didn't plan on dying at the fucking Twins. And he would damn well get her to Winterfell, he would make certain of that. But what then? She would marry, a Lord for Winterfell and breed heirs for her lands. And as much as he wanted to yank her against him right now and kiss her until he couldn't breath before carrying her back to his tent and fucking her until she couldn't walk tomorrow, he knew he couldn't. Knew he shouldn't. She needed a Lord, and he was nothing but a dog. So he dropped a kiss to the crown of her head and led her back to her tent before going to his own.

The next morning he woke before the sun, as usual. Leaving his tent, he broke his fast with the few other soldiers that had already woken up, then went to the makeshift training yard where the now rousing soldiers were gathering and sparring to help build up their nerve for the coming night. He was watching, calling out corrections and pointers, when he felt his skin prickle along his neck. Turning, he found Sansa walking towards him. She wore a dark grey dress with her armored corset and a black cloak that hooked to the breast of it with wolf heads. Fog rose off the ground, and a light mist was starting to fall, clinging to the tiny hairs around her temples and building into drops on her corset before rolling down.

"Morning." he greeted her, noticing how all the other men had stopped and bowed gallantly at her arrival.

"Good morning." she smiled at him, then nodded towards the other men who went back to doing what it was they had been before she walked up.

"That thing will rust out in this rain." he warned her before turning and watching the men again. The rain was starting to fall heavier now.

"I'm asking these men to fight and die for me." she took a step so she stood beside him and looked out at the men that would fight for her. "The least I can do is stand beneath the same rain that falls on them." The rest of the morning was spent training, the afternoon going over the plan of attack again. By early evening the men were getting anxious again and had started to spar once more.

"We hear you have been training at the sword, Lady Sansa." one of the sellswords, Derrion Pike, commented to Sansa as she watched the men spar.

"I have." she smiled at him. "Although I cannot claim to be good at it."

"Show us." Derrion encouraged her with a smile. Sansa flushed. Sandor thought about knocking the older man out, but refrained. "It'll be good practice. We can give you pointers." Sansa looked over at Sandor and he shrugged. It was up to her.

"Alright." she nodded and stood, removing her cloak.

"I'll spar with you." Derrion offered and Sandor stood and growled at the smaller man.

"I'll spar with her, Pike." Derrion quickly glanced away from Sandor's face, but nodded his assent. He led Sansa out to the now fairly muddy grounds and they both picked up blunted tourney swords.

"I haven't trained with an audiance before." Sansa said nervously as she looked around them.

"Would you prefer I take it easy on you, My Lady?" he asked with a raised brow and she swung her gaze back to him.

"Oh, please." she laughed. "You have always taken it easy on me, or else I wouldn't be able to walk after you've finished with me." Sandor felt his girn slip as his groin tightened. Was that not what he'd been wanting to happen?

"Are you alright?" Sansa asked quietly, taking a small step towards him.

"Fine." he snapped, then cleared his throat. "Let's just go." he took his stance and Sansa did as well. He waited for her to give him a nod and then he came at her. She was right, he'd never came at her full strength. Maybe not even half strength. There would be no purpose behind it. Not even for learning's sake. She would only get hurt. With her men watching her now, Sansa focused even harder, came at him with perfectly placed and swung blows, her footwork perfection, her agility making him fight a grin. She looked like some damned dancing fae with a sword, her skirts all in a twirl, her hair falling loose. All elegant grace and deadly beauty.

  He let her back him to the other end of the yard, impressed when she parried a few of his thrusts, even more impressed when he had to turn and actually concentrate on blocking a few of hers. He was so caught up in watching her eyes, which tended to be her give away, she looked where she was planning to swing, he never seen her strike out with her foot until she caught it around his ankle. With the surprise of it and the marshiness of the ground beneath him, he slipped and fell on his arse with a grunt, just managing to block her swing for his throat. Looking up at her, all he could see was a huge smile on her face of pure, slightly surprised, satisfaction.

"Well done." he congratulated her as the cheers erupted around them. Sansa dropped her blade and laughed, giving him her hand as if she could lift someone his size from the ground. He took it even though he didn't need it.

"Brienne has been showing me a few things." Sansa told him. "I thought it might be a good idea to have more than one person teaching me. Get different idea's. And I thought since she was a woman then she would have something that might be useful for me that maybe you wouldn't have thought of." Sandor realized in her rambling that she seemed nervous.

"I don't care that she's helping you." Sandor assured Sansa. "The big bitch seems to be a damn good fighter. Don't think I'll be offended by it."

"I still prefer you teaching me." Sansa said quickly and Sandor patted her shoulder and nodded.

"Aye, and I will." he wiped off a handful of mud of his arse and slapped it back to the ground. "Though I think I may have tought the lady warrior that move." Sansa laughed again, a sound he could get used to hearing more often.

"So she said."

Sansa's good humour was gone that night when she seen the army off. She came to him where he sat already astride Stranger, her uncle the only person that rode next to him as he was on the edge.

"May the Gods keep you safe." she said, taking hold of the horses pommel. Sandor let his hand fall from the reins, comforted in the knowledge no one could see what he did because of his height and the horses, and laid his hand on top of hers.

"The Gods be damned." he scoffed. "It'll be my cold hard steel that will keep me safe." Sansa surprised him by turning her hand under his, lacing her fingers between his gloved ones.

"You are my sword arm tonight." she said, her breath a puff of steam in the chill of the night. "That means you have to fight strong and gallantly." Sandor thought about arguing the gallant part, but didn't. He'd let her have that for tonight, although there was nothing gallant in killing a man. She would find that out soon. She surprised him again by leaning in and kissing the back of his leather covered hand. His fingers tightened around hers, and then she was pulling away. He watched her walk back towards the camp, where Brienne and a small guard waited for her before turning back around in the saddle. He looked over to find Brynden Tully watching him closely.

"You are a second son to a minor House." Sandor lifted his chin at the mans words that were said without malice or indignation. Just a statement of fact.

"Aye, but that doesn't stop me from going into battle to retrieve your nephew. It's often second sons of minor Houses that do the dying and the killing for the first sons of noble Houses." Brynden grinned at that.

"You have balls, Clegane." he said, "I'll give you that much. But it's going to take more than that for her hand." Sandor curled his lip but looked away from the Blackfish. He didn't want Sansa's hand in marriage. He just...he just wanted her. But that didn't mean he'd lost all sensibility. He was aware of her circumstances. He didn't want a wife and he knew he would never be anyones choice for a husband. But somewhere along the way Sansa had come to mean something to him, and surprisingly he had to her as well. He would protect her. He would keep her safe. And it was her bidding he would do. Not her uncles. Not Jaime Lannisters. It would be hers and hers alone. He would not be run off by anyone but her. She had few choices left in her life. He'd not take that one from her.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa stood on the edge of the ridge, looking down at the castle that was now being somewhat illuminated in the pre dawn light. It had been hours since the army had left. She could see nothing from where she stood, nor hear anything. The castle was too far away.

"Battles take time, My Lady." Brienne told her gently, coming to stand behind her.

"I know." Sansa turned from the darkness of the valley, her eyes hurting from staring out at nothingness for so long.

"Come into the tent, Lady Sansa." Brienne urged her. "It's cold outside and you're wet and trembling. Ser Jaime will come for you when it is time. You should get some sleep before then." Sansa let her lead her into the tent, although she had no plans of sleeping. Not when her men were fighting and dying. Not when Sandor wasn't next to her. Inside the tent, Brienne helped her change into a dry dress and restoked the brazier and Sansa sat near it, running a brush through her hair so it would dry.

"You care for him, do you not?" Sansa looked up at the other womans question. Her blue eyes were similar to Sansa's. They looked at her now, full of kindness but a hint of confusion.

"Who do you speak of?" Sansa pretended to be aloof, looking away as she continued to brush her hair. Over the time it had taken to get to the Twins, she and Brienne had come to a sort of truce. Besides, it was nice to have another woman to confide in, even if it was a woman like Brienne.

"Excuse me if I'm overstepping, My Lady, but it seems you and The Hound are very close. You care for him, if I am not incorrect." Sansa stopped brushing and looked up at Brienne.

"Sandor Clegane has done more to keep me safe than anyone else alive. He showed me his own strange brand of gentleness when I'd thought nothing was gentle anymore. He is the only friend I have in the world. So, yes. I care for him. As he cares for me." Sansa tilted her head to the side, eyeing Brienne for a moment. "As I would guess you care for Ser Jaime." Brienne blushed brightly and turned away.

"Ser Jaime saved my life."

"You saved Ser Jaime's as well." Sansa reminded her and Brienne shifted her weight back and forth for a moment.

"Have you ever killed a man, Lady Sansa?" she asked, looking back to Sansa. She paused a moment at the change of subject.

"No." Brienne nodded. The answer must have been what she was expecting.

"Have you ever seen a man beheaded before?" Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories not come to her. The memory that haunted her every night.

"Yes, Lady Brienne." Sansa finally said, opening her eyes and looking up at the woman. She winced, looking guilty.

"Apologies, My Lady." she said quickly. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright." Sansa shook her head. "Did you have a point you were getting at?"

"You will be taking Walder Frey's head." Brienne reminded her. "Killing a man isn't as easy as one would think it would be. Cutting through flesh and muscle and bone, even in something as small as ones neck, is difficult." Sansa could remember how easily Ice had cut through her fathers neck when Ilyn Payne had swung the blade. But she wasn't Ilyn Payne's size. And she didn't have Ice.

"What are you saying, Brienne?" Sansa asked her.

"Just that you need to strike hard and you need to strike firm. One sure blow will work, with a blade that is sharp enough." Sansa nodded. She knew she wouldn't use her own short sword. Sandor's was always sharp and sure, so she could use his, if need be. Or Uncle Brynden's.

The night passed restlessly. Sansa paced, as did Brienne. Sansa knew the other woman had wanted to be a part of the siege along with Ser Jaime, but when she heard Sansa was staying behind without Sandor, she had decided to stay behind as well. She could tell Brienne was worried, about Jaime presumably. He was quite lacking in his skills now that he was without a hand. Night eventually turned into morning, and morning into afternoon. The guards brought in food, but neither she or Brienne ate, although the other woman tried to convince Sansa to. She would need her strength, after all. Finally, after what had felt like days, the tent flap opened and two guards came inside, followed shortly by Ser Jaime. Brienne stood up from the chair she sat in so quickly it tipped over and she strode to him quickly, stopping short of reaching him.

"Are you alright, My Lord?"

"Fine, wench." Jaime grinned. His beautiful blonde hair was mussed and his armor was splattered with blood, but he looked sound.

"And the others?" Sansa demanded. "My Uncle, Lord Blackwood?" she swallowed hard. "Sandor Clegane?"

"Fine and alive, all three. The siege went better than we'd expected. Walder Frey was quite certain of his safety in his own castle and had sent most of his men to Riverrun. We lost men, of course, but not many." Sansa took her first deep breath since the army had left.

"And what of Walder Frey?" At that, Jaime smiled.

"The Blackfish has...tenderized him for you, but he is alive and awaiting the Ladies justice." he gave her a assessing look. "You still want to do it?"

"Of course." Sansa lifted her chin and Jaime shook his head.

"We should be off, then. The guards have gotten your mounts ready." After he left, Brienne helped her into the armored corset and cloak and together they mounted and rode down to the castle. The gates had been broke down. As they followed Jaime through them, the guards behind them, Sansa looked around. There were splatters and puddles of blood all over, broken mortar and splintered wood. Arrows sticking out of the ground. There were no bodies, as the army was gathering them up and taking them to the work yard to be disposed of.

In the great hall is where they found her uncle and Sandor with Walder Frey. Sansa called upon every ounce of bravado she had as Walder watched her walk between Jaime and Brienne towards him. She held his gaze, refusing to look away until she stood before where he was on his knees, Brynden on one side, Sandor on the other. She cast a look to the latter for a second, drew strength from the sharp grey eyes looking back at her. She looked back at Walder. He was a disappointment to her, really. In her mind she had built up a monster. But this was no monster. He was only a brittle old man with no hair and no teeth. But he glared up at her like he might rise and strike her down.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked him, calling upon every ounce of superiority she'd ever felt in her life, and he lifted a brow, letting his eyes openly roam her figure. Sansa suppressed a shiver at that and waited for his eyes to reach hers again.

"I'd like to say you were a gift to me from the Lannister's." he looked at Jaime for a long moment. "But I hardly think that is the case."

"I am no gift to you, Walder Frey." she brought his attention back to her and he glared.

"Last I checked I am a Lord." he sneered proudly.

"Yes, Lord of the Crossing." she nodded. "And I am the Lady Sansa of House Stark." his eyes widened slightly at that. "Daughter of Lady Catelyn Tully Stark. Sister of His Grace, King Robb Stark. Wardeness of the North. And I am here to pass judgement on you, Lord Frey."

"Judgement?" he scoffed. "You're nothing but a girl. A child in pretend armor." he spit off to the side. "Roose Bolton is Warden of the North."

"No." she shook her head. "I am far more than a mere girl. And I am no child. I am a grieving daughter. A bleeding sister. I am every family in the North that want's a reckoning for the lives of their sons and brothers and fathers that were slain here on this land." Walder lifted his chin, his lip swollen from having been beaten, his left eye turning black. He was broken. He was beaten. But still he made a show of pride.

"Who's to do the deed, then?" he sniffed, glancing up at her uncle. "Is it you, Blackfish? For your lovely niece I killed and the nephew I took?" he cackled and looked over at Sandor and grimaced. "Or is it you, burned man? You have the look of a killer in you."

"I will be doing it." she told him and his head snapped back around to her, his eyes bugging. "My father once told my brother that a true leader mustn't hide behind paid executioners. As you did that night, and that you owe it to a man to look him in the eye and hear his last words, that if you can't maybe he doesn't deserve to die." she knelt so she was facing him without looking down on him.

"Tell me, Lord Frey, did you hear my brothers last words?" she spoke evenly, softly. "Did you look him in the eyes as you had your men fill him with arrows, or when Roose Bolton shoved a knife into his heart?"

"I listened not to the final wailings of dying men." Walder grumbled. "But I was told he called for his wolf. And your mother," he grinned evilly. "she begged for mercy." Sansa felt her throat constrict, an anger so fierce rising in her she felt capable of lunging at the old man and ripping his throat out with her bare teeth. She was saved from that animalistic behavior when the back of Brynden Tully's hand struck across the old mans face. Sandor caught him with his foot, shoving him back upright with a disgusted grunt.

"Is that it then, Lord Frey?" she asked, catching his eye again. "Is that your last words? Or have you something more to say?" Walder spit again, a stream of spit laced with blood this time.

"I've nothing to say to you, girl. Only that war is war, and people die. Your brother understood that."

"My brother understood that, yes." she stood and looked at Sandor and he unsheathed his sword easily. "He also understood guest rights and the act of cowards." she held out her hand and Sandor placed the hilt of his sword in it. It was bigger than the swords she'd used before. Heavier. Not quite as big as Ice, but close. The butt of the hilt reached just under her chin with the point of the blade on the floor.

"I deserve better than murder by an angry girl child." Walder spoke to Brynden. "In the least a Lord should be killed by a Lord."

"You deserve far worse than the Lady has planned for you, Frey." Brynden purposfully left off his title. Walder looked away then, his jaw set. He was finished talking. It was time. Sansa found she wasn't as afraid as she'd thought she'd be. At Brynden's motion, two guards brought forth a large block of wood and placed it at Walder's knees, then Brynden and Sandor forced the old man to bend over it, his head hanging off the edge. Walder looked niether right nor left, but straight at the ground.

"I, Lady Sansa of the House Stark sentence you, Walder of the House Frey, to die for the murders of Lady Catelyn of the House's Tully and Stark, and King Robb of the House Stark, as well as the thousands of his bannerman that were killed with him." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, then she hoisted the large sword over her head, making certain the edge of the blade would come perfectly down over Walder's neck. Then, she let it fall, putting her strength and her weight behind it. She didn't close her eyes like she wanted to. She forced herself to watch. And remember. Her mother. All the words of soft wisdom and love she'd spoken over the years. Her kind voice and sweet songs. The way she smelled and the way her hands felt as they brushed her hair. She remembered Robb. How she had seen him practice in the yard and thought he was the strongest man alive, other than father. How he had protected her in the night when the lightening lit the skies and the thunder rolled. The way he held himself with brave dignity. Walder Frey's head left his body easily as Sandor's blade swiftly cut through his neck and lodged itself into the wooden floor beneath him. It bounced once, then rolled off to the side. His body went limp and dropped. Blood pooled quickly on the floor. Sansa stepped back so it didn't wet her boots, but when she tried to extract the sword from the ground, she found she couldn't. Without a word, Sandor gently pushed her hands away and pulled the blade free and she stepped further away.

"Are you alright, niece?" Brynden asked her and Sansa looked up at him, his eyes watching her closely. She turned from him and spoke to the guard standing next to him.

"I want his head mounted on a pike at the castle enterance. His body isn't to be burried with the others. I want it burned."

"Yes, Your Grace." he bowed quickly and he and another guard started to do as she'd told them. Sansa left the great hall with her uncle and Sandor Clegane. It wasn't until they reached a smaller council room that she realized the guard had referred to her as Grace instead of Lady. Inside the council room she found a few more guards along with her Uncle Edmure.

"Sansa?" he rose from his chair, a huge smile forming on his face, what looked to be tears sheening his eyes.

"Uncle Edmure." she smiled back, her throat hurting. He grasped her roughly by the shoulders before slamming her against his chest in a rough hug. She hadn't seen her uncle Edmure in years, since she was a little girl and he'd come to Winterfell to visit. She'd always liked Edmure, though.

"Gods, Sansa, I am so sorry." he held her tightly and Sansa struggled to not let the tears fall. "If I had known." she felt him shake his head and she grasped him tighter. "You must know, Sansa, if I had known I wouldn't have...I wouldn't..." Sansa realeased her grip and pushed away from him, looking hard into his eyes.

"No, Edmure." she said firmly. "This is not your fault."

"It was my wedding." he argued.

"And it was to make up for a mistake that Robb made." she reminded him. "It was no one's fault, Uncle, no ones. Least of all yours."

"They were dying, out there being murdered while they ate and drank, and all the while I was in bed with my new wife, fu..." he pulled his words up short and Sansa had the good grace to blush at the word she knew he would have used.

"It matters not, Uncle." she touched his cheek. "Not now." she looked behind him and for the first time seen the tiny woman standing in the corner. Edmure followed her line of sight.

"Lady Sansa, this is my wife, Lady Roslin Tully." Sansa stepped around him and gave the woman her best curtsy. She didn't think she imagined the affection that Edmure looked at the other woman with.

 "Lady Roslin, it's lovely to meet you." Sansa felt a pang of awkwardness at meeting the daughter of the man she'd just killed.

"You as well, Lady Sansa." Roslin didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Roslin, I am sorry for what has happened here, to your home and your father. It's a loss I understand well, and I my sympathies go out to you during your time of grief."

"Please, Lady Sansa, that is not necessary." Roslin blushed deeply, her eyes finally meeting Sansa's. "I am aware of what my father did to your family. To your people."

"It makes the death of a father no less." Sansa understood that pain better than most.

"My father was far from the man Lord Eddard Stark was. My father was not a...kind sort of father." Sansa nodded, touching the other woman's shoulder gently before turning back to Edmure. She moved to stand very close to his side so she spoke in his ear.

"There will be a guard to take Lady Roslin back to Riverrun. Make certain that she is not led out through the front gates." Regardless of her feelings for her father, there was no use in showing the girl his head on a pike.

The castle was made ready for them to stay at until the army was ready to march on to Winterfell. Jaime said it was best to move quickly. They had the North to move through. Brynden hoped that once word did spread of her raising an army, more Houses would join them. The events of the day didn't sink in until that night, when she was taken to a bedchamber that would be hers for the stay.

"You were silent at supper." Sandor commented once they reached the door. "Didn't eat much."

"I don't seem to have an appetite." she opened her door, then paused. She wanted to say something to him, wanted him to say something to her, but she wasn't sure what. She looked up at him, hoping he might know. He'd killed a man before, after all.

"You did well today, girl." he said after a silence. Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself.

"I cut a mans head off today." she reminded him, opening her eyes. "And yet you still call me girl." Sandor almost smiled.

"The men have taken to calling you Queen." he told her. "Should I refer to you as Your Grace, then?"

"I don't want to be a queen." she said quickly. "And I don't want to be your Grace. Or your Lady. I just want to be Sansa. If only to you." The smirk fell from Sandor's face and he took a step back.

"You're a Stark." he rasped. "I'm nothing but a Clegane." Sansa paused at his harsh tone, almost shrinking back. But she wouldn't. Not anymore. She would not cower to anyone ever again.

"Everyone is more than their names or the Houses to which they were born." she said firmly, reaching out and touching his burnt cheek like she had the night the Blackwater burned. Tonight it was dry, free of both blood and tears. He flinched at her touch even though he'd told her once he felt nothing on that side.

"You are simply Sandor." she told him, searching his eyes, trying to make him understand. "Not a Clegane. Not the Hound. You are neither a soldier or a lowborn second son. Not to me. Not when it was just you and I out there alone. Not now, that you are fighting so very hard to get me back home. You are just Sandor. My only true friend." her eyes burnt and her nose stung. Her chest ached. All throughout the day she'd wanted to cry for different reasons. For fear of her men in the battle. For fear that Sandor wouldn't come back to her. When she was faced with Walder Frey. When she swung the sword that took his head. But she couldn't cry. Not in front of them, those others. Not her men, or her uncle. Not Jaime Lannister or Brienne of Tarth. Not the guards. To them, she had to appear one way. Brave, unafraid, confident. But with Sandor, she felt she could let her guard down. Could drop the pretense and simply feel the emotions that demanded to be felt. He mocked her in the past, but never when it counted. Never about something that mattered.

"You're a stupid bird." he told her without his usual harshness, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from his face. "With very poor taste in friends." But he didn't push her away, or even drop her hand. Instead, he carried it to his mouth and brushed his lips across the palm of her hand, the firm softness of the unburnt side, the rough scrape of the ruined corner. She felt them both, and enjoyed them equally. Holding her gaze, he kissed the inside of her wrist over her racing pulse point. It dawned on her then that they stood in the hall where anyone could see them if they happened by. Years of being taught propriety and modesty forced her to speak.

"Would you like to come inside?" she had hoped it would come out more firmly. She wanted to sound confident and sure of herself. Instead her voice was breathy and weak. Sandor drew her hand away from his mouth, but still didn't release his hold on it.

"That isn't a good idea, Sansa." he sounded regretful, maybe even a little angry about it, as he stared into the darkness of the bedchamber behind her.

"Because it is not what is done?" she asked. "Or what my uncle would want? Or what Jaime Lannister would recommend? They would all see me married off and bedded by a man of their choosing simply for the name he bares and the stratigic value of it. And then what?" Sansa pulled her hand free of his. "I would bear his children and give him _my_ families home and _their_ lands while he went and bedded whatever whores and common women he wanted. He might even take a mistress and it would be all well and good, fathering as many bastards as he would like. And what of me? Am I never to know what it's like to be with a man I choose? A man that actually cares for me and I for him. Because I am a Lady I am denied that right." she turned from him, squeezing her eyes shut against the surge of tears.

"I wont do it." she said firmly, looking back up at him. "I will not marry Blackwood, or anyone else. Not after what I have done to regain my families home. It was not Brynden Blackwood that took the Twins, or Walder Frey's head. It is not the first son of any house that will take back my home. I will be the one to do that. And it will be I that keeps Winterfell. Jeyne Westerling will give birth to Robb's heir, and if it is a son he shall be Lord of Winterfell, as a rightful Stark should be. Marriage and more heirs will be up to him. Not me. And Winterfell will remain in the Stark name. As it should."

"Life is buggering cruel." Sandor muttered, then pulled his shoulders back as he met her gaze evenly. "There will not be a man that will gladly accept that decision, Sansa. Not your uncles, not the lion, not Blackwood. None of the old Lords." he grasped her chin and forced her to look at him although she already was. "But if it is your decision, and you really mean it, I'll help you keep it. And I'll fight off any cunt that tries to change your mind." Sansa smiled, tears slipping from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. Something in her chest eased at his words, an anxiety she hadn't realized she'd been feeling fading away.

"I mean to keep it." she assured him, then added, "For now, in the least. I have too much to focus on right now without thoughts of courting Lords and fielding proposals." And it wasn't likely to change, unless a certain sworn shield ever gained the want and will to ask for her hand. She would gladly give it to him, make him Lord of Winterfell and relieve him of the burden his family name has given him. She had heard of it done before. Men of low stature marrying Ladies of high birth, for one scandalous reason or another, and taking the name of the woman's House. She would forever be the gossip of the North, but she found she didn't care. Sandor seemed to sour some at her final words, but nodded and dropped his hand.

"The offer still stands." she told him. "The offer will always stand, Sandor." Sandor swallowed hard, his throat muscles working as he looked past her again, his grey eyes a storm.

"You should get some sleep." he said without looking at her. "I know you didn't sleep last night."

"Neither did you." she pointed out. "I don't sleep well, actually. Not anymore." his eyes cut back to hers and Sansa grinned. "When I was a little girl I had to share a room with Arya. I hated it dreadfully. Complained endlessly to Mother and Father. When we arrived in Kings Landing, I was given my own room and I couldn't sleep." She laughed. "I would pile up pillows next to me and pretend they were her. It only lasted a few nights and I was back to sleeping just fine, although I still missed her warmth next to me. Not that I would have ever told her that." a sharp pang of sadness struck her then and she swallowed back her tears.

"Since we arrived at Riverrun, I find I cannot sleep well without you. It's been more than a few nights, and it still hasn't gotten any better." she smiled up at his carefully blank expression. "And there is not a pillow in all of Westeros that is as big and hard and warm as you."

"Be straight, Sansa." he nearly growled. "Tell me what it is you want." Sansa thought of all the things she wanted, all the things she desired so much. She settled on telling him what she wanted most at the moment.

"I want you to come inside." she touched his wrist and he turned his hand and caught hers in it. "I want you to lay down next to me while I sleep. I want to feel safe again." His grip tightened on her hand for a second and the blank expression shattered. The want and vulnerability on his face made her want to weep.

"Aye." was all he said and he let Sansa lead him into her room, lit only by the fire in the hearth and the candle on the table next to the bed. She bolted the door, then moved near the bed and started removing her armored corset. Glancing across the bed, she watched as Sandor removed his boiled leather armor and boots, setting his sword next to the head of the bed. Sansa untied the sword belt she wore and sat her short sword on the bedside table. Her hands trembled as she reached behind her and undid the laces of her dress. She cast a glance at Sandor as she pushed it off her shoulders and let it pool at her feet. She wore her shift still, and she'd been in just it in front of him before, but for some reason she felt more naked. More exposed. And unlike all the times before, he stared openly at her instead of just casting half hidden glances at her. Sandor held her gaze while his fingers pulled loose the ties at the neck of his tunic, then whipped the roughspun fabric off and tossed it to the floor.

"Just sleep." Sandor said roughly as he pulled the covers back and climbed onto the mattress. Sansa hesitated a moment longer, blowing out the candle before joining him on the pillows. Unlike their time on the road, they put up no pretense of allowing the other space. He hooked an arm under her neck and pulled her flush against his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Sansa had never touched him without a shirt on. He'd always kept one on while sleeping in the past. Now her arm stretched out across surprisingly soft, warm skin and her fingers buried into the dark hair that covered his chest. And that familiar feeling rushed over her. She felt safe and secure, warm and relaxed. The worries and tension of the day seemed to fade away in the heat his body provided and for the first time in what felt like forever, she fell quickly into a deep, restful sleep, secure in the knowledge that the most powerful warrior she knew was there next to her to protect her from all the foes that would hurt her otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

They stayed at the Twins for a sennight. During that time, Sandor never once seen the inside of his own bedchamber. He bathed in the bath houses with the other soldiers, ate in the great hall at the table just off the diesis, and he spent his nights in bed with Sansa. They were fairly careful about it, although they probably could have been much more careful. No one ever found them out, though, or no one said anything about it if they had. For Sandor to escort her to her chambers in the evenings was not unusual, he was her sworn shield. They both rose far earlier than most of the castle, so they'd left her chambers and were either in the great hall or training yard before any one was about the halls to catch them coming out together. Sandor got the feeling her uncle Brynden knew something, but he never said anything. Besides, Sandor hadn't done anything...irrevocable to the girl. She still held that small scrap of skin between her thighs that was supposedly all that proclaimed her honor as a Lady. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind more times than he could count. He resigned himself to holding her, which was more than he could have asked for, if he'd ever thought to ask in the first place.

When they left the Twins, they headed for Moat Cailin. It was one of the Norths most important strongholds. The anceint ruins were currently being held by the Ironborn, but word was that it was simply a token force as the Greyjoy's had left it relatively unmanned after Balon's death. Jaime insisted that now was the time to strike. If Sansa was to have any hope of regaining and holding the North, then she needed Moat Cailin. Before they can reach Moat Cailin, though, they had to pass Greywatch Tower and it's Lord Howland Reed. It was known that the man had neither alligned himself with Roose Bolton, nor scorned his hold on the North. Sansa was convinced, however, that his past relationship with her father would gain them his favor.

Lord Reed was much like all the crannogmen, small in size but large in smarts and bravery. He'd fought alongside Eddard Stark when Robert Baratheon made his claim for the iron throne and Sansa told him how her father always spoke of Reed as a very close friend. He welcomed Sansa into his castle, leaving her under no missunderstanding at where he stood. And that was firmly behind her. They were housed at Greywatch Tower for another few days, while Jaime Lannister and Brynden Tully formed a war council and went over the plans of taking Moat Cailin with the number of the army growing thanks to the men provided by Lord Reed.

Howland Reed offered Sansa the option of staying at his home while the army took the moat, and Sansa declined. Since taking the Twins, she was becoming more and more involved in the strategic part of warfare, spending endless hours with the Kingslayer and the Blackfish. She took to it much like she'd taken to sword fighting, but even better. Sansa had wit and smarts and whether she would admit it or not, had inherited her fathers tenacity and bravery. Sandor still didn't have much to do with the war council, although he sat in on all their meetings and stayed with Sansa long into the night when she sat up with Lannister going over the details. He was soldier, not a general. He liked fighting and killing and battle, but the hells if he wanted to be the one to dictate what was to be done to get there.

Even on the road Sandor slept with Sansa, although it was more of a trick than when they were in the castles. More times than not, her tent would be filled with both of her uncles, Jaime and Brienne, and some of the war council until late in the night. Those nights, Sandor simply didn't leave after they all left. On the rare nights the war council didn't gather, he would wait until the fires all burned low and then he'd enter her tent by going under the canvas through the back. Getting caught was a risk, but when he climbed into her bed and she willingly came to him, holding him just as he held her, he found that it was worth it even though it caused his blood to heat and his groin to pound. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken himself in hand as often as he had lately. Maybe when he was a young boy and just figuring out what his body was capable of. The battle at the Twins had gotten his blood up, as battle normally did, but there were no brothels around, or whores to pay that he could take his pent up adrenaline out on. Some of the men had taken to the many daughters that Walder Frey had left behind, or the serving girls. And if he was seeing things right, he thought maybe the Kingslayer had his own outlet in the huge woman warrior. He based that assumption on the morning after the battle. Jaime Lannister had always been an overly confident, egotistical man but since loosing his hand it had waned some. The next morning, however, he was strutting around like a preening fucking pigeon with his arrogant smile back in full force, and all the while the big bitch was constantly flushed and embarrassed looking but he'd caught the knowing smiles the two passed to each other.

Sandor hated him for it. Hated all them for it. How they could all so easily have what they wanted when he couldn't? Not that he wanted the Frey daughters or serving girls, and he sure as hells didn't want the Tarth wench, but the Gods be damned, he was pent up and he was frusterated and turned on and his damned hand wasn't doing him any justice. What he needed was a woman's body, or really only her cunt, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt it was...dishonest somehow. Not that fucking whores had ever been an honest exchange before, but now he felt he would be betraying Sansa and that was something he refused to do. And it wasn't a whore he had to pay to endure his horrid face that he wanted anyhow. He wanted Sansa. And only Sansa. But he'd be damned if he took something from her when she had so little left, and her maidenhead was a very important piece of property. One he wasn't going to touch until she asked him, if she ever asked him. He wasn't quite sure where Sansa's want in him left off. She claimed him as her friend, trusted in him, needed him for protection, and wanted him to train her, but was there more? Could she possibly ache for him the way he ached for her? Doubtful. Highly doubtful. But he'd take what bones she threw him while she was still willing to throw them.

They made camp along the Fever River several miles away from the ancient stronghold. They would take it at first light. The towers could be seen in the distance from where they camped, far enough away from the marshiness of the swamps to keep the tents dry. The crannogmen that were with them now knew all sorts of hidden ways through the narrow trails between the bogs and small wet roads that only boats could pass. Jaime argued with them that those things weren't there, pointing at the lack of it written on the map. The crannogmen had laughed at him and told him that is why the only way to take Moat Cailin you needed the assistance of House Reed. They knew more than any maester had ever written on a map. Like the night they had taken the Twins, Sansa would stay behind at the camp until the battle was over. It would be a shorter battle than the Twins. There were far less soldiers here, and with the crannogmen's help, they were going to circle to the North side of the towers and attack from behind as the Northern side of the towers had little protection for the moat had been designed to keep out people from the South, not the North. Once they took the moat, however, word would quickly get back to the Bolton's at Winterfell that they were coming, if it hadn't already. It was likely that Roose Bolton wouldn't wait for them to arrive, but meet their armies outside on the fields. The war council had plans for both.

Sandor waited in silence that night as both Tully men and Lannister talked with Sansa about the benefits of taking prisoners. He wasn't really listening. He was watching Sansa. She seemed far more...anxious than she had been earlier. She was nodding curtly at whatever her uncles or Ser Jaime said, but her eyes kept darting back to him. Her cheeks were flushed even though it was fairly cold in her tent, even with the brazier, and she kept tugging at the end of her braid. Sansa never fidgeted. It wasn't ladylike, apparently. Eventually the other men left and Sandor made a show of standing with them and walking to the flap of her tent as they left, even though he had no plans on leaving. Not tonight. Not when he was going off to battle in the morning. Once they were all gone, he turned back to her, finding her standing at the table the map was still spread out on, but she was looking at him.

"Do you think it's a good plan?" she asked. Sandor shrugged and went about blowing the candles out, leaving only the fire in the brazier to light the tent.

"I've told you, little bird." he rounded to stand next to her bed, and started undoing his sword belt, as he did every night. "I'm not a war general. I know nothing about strategy. I take orders, not give them." Sansa, having taken to wearing her short sword at all times, came to her side of the bed and started removing her own sword belt.

"My Uncle Edmure says the Ironborn will be easy to overtake."

"He's going into battle as well." he reminded her, starting to remove his chainmail, having removed his armor before her meeting. "He wouldn't so willingly go if he didn't trust the plan." Sansa nodded and he watched as she deftly worked the laces on the front of her dress. It never failed to turn him on, watching her disrobe. Normally she did it quickly and efficiently before slipping into a nightdress without looking up at him. Her fingers paused at the end of the laces and Sandor looked up at her face to find her watching him. Her blue eyes were wide, her cheeks even more flushed than earlier, the redness extending down the long column of her throat. He opened his mouth to say something, his mind telling him to turn around and give her a semblance of privacy, but he could neither find his voice or his will to move. Sansa swallowed hard. Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin slightly and pushed the sleeves of the dress free of her arms. It caught on her full hips, then she pushed it down, leaving her in a simple cotton shift. He'd seen her in it before, slept with her in just it before, but with the way she was standing, so still and unmoving while holding his gaze, it felt different. Like she wanted him to look. So he looked.

"Sansa." his voice came out a rasp and he swallowed against the sudden dryness. A faint smile ghosted across her face and then she brought her hands up to the laces at the neck of the shift. Lust surged through Sandor so hard it made him a little dizzy.

"Sansa, wait." he croaked out. If she took that damndable piece of fabric off, he wasn't so sure what his willpower would allow him. Sansa released the laces, which were now undone, and climbed up onto the mattress, which was barely big enough for both of them, and too short for Sandor.

"Don't you want to?" she whispered, uncertainty and embarrassment evident in her blue eyes. He couldn't help but rasp out a chuckle at that.

"You are far too innocent if you need ask that question." he told her. "The evidence of my want is plain to see, if you're willing to look and know what it is you're looking at." At that her eyes flicked down to his groin, the fabric of his breeches plainly tented with his desire, the laces straining. Her eyes quickly came back to his, and she pressed the back of her hand to her flaming cheek.

"Then why are you stopping me?" Sandor worked his jaw, staying far enough away from the bed that he couldn't reach her. He didn't trust himself with that just yet.

"If I take you like you're asking me to, they'll say you're ruined." He refused to say it _would_ ruin her. Nothing would ruin her, especially the loss of something as ridiculous as a thin piece of flesh no one ever seen.

"Who say's they need know?" she asked.

"You're Lord husband will know when he beds you on your wedding night and there's no barrier for him to push through, and no blood on the sheets the next morning." She frowned at that, her bottom lip pouting out. She looked much more her young age right now.

"I told you I don't want to marry." she whined a little. "I'll not have a wedding night, or a bedding, so it makes no difference."

"You say that now." he ran a hand over his face. "Gods, Sansa, I can't just fuck you. You're not a whore. You deserve a damned husband, and a proper bedding after your wedding. Not some secretive rutting with a dog on the night before a battle." She was quite for a long time and he was worried he'd hurt her, but it was the truth. He mentally kicked his own arse for not just jumping on her the second she showed interest and fucking her until he couldn't anymore. A look passed through her eyes, one that he'd seen before. She was putting on her battle face. The one she wore the night before he left for the Twins, the one she wore while taking Walder Frey's head. The one she wore any time she delivered orders to the other men.

"Then why don't you marry me?" Sandor reeled back at her words, his mouth falling open before he snapped it shut and scowled at her.

"Don't be bloody stupid." he snapped, because he was angry at her for saying that. It wasn't a fucking game. How did she not see that?

"I'm not being stupid." she said just as angrily. "Why not? Am I not what you had in mind for your lady wife?"

"I never had a lady wife in mind." he almost yelled then remembered they had to keep it down. "Especially not the buggering Queen in the North. I'm not a Lord, girl. I've no lands or titles. And if you think any of them would allow it, you've lost your bloody mind."

"If I am to be a queen, as everyone wants it, then shouldn't I be able to dictate whom I marry?"

"Not when you need to align your House with another powerful one. Not when you need a Lord with a good name and an army behind him to help you defend it."

"But I don't want..."

"No." he barked, then lowered his voice. "No, you don't want it, but you bloody well need it." She narrowed her eyes at him, the blues flashing dangerously as she crawled the rest of the way off the bed towards him. He took a step back before he forced himself not to run from her. She came to stand just in front of him, the air around her nearly crackling with her haughty sense of anger.

"Look at the army I have managed to raise without a husband." she said low. "I've already taken the Twins, and tomorrow morning I will take back Moat Cailin. And in a short time, I will also retake Winterfell. And I will do it with _my_ army. With _my_ men. I'll keep it the same way." she stood straighter. "As Queen in the North, I will not take orders from lesser men. I will dictate what I am to do and what I am not to do." a flash of sadness darkened her eyes, but she blinked it away. "I meant what I said. I wont marry, not unless it's to a man of my choosing. And if you decline my offer, then I will remain unwed. Either way, it makes no difference. If you won't wed me, this offer still stands." she motioned back to the bed. "Because I want you, Sandor. Even if it's only for a night." Sandor opened his mouth, intent on telling her to bugger off, that he didn't need or want a wife and that she was just as daft and stupid as he'd thought she was in the beginning and he wouldn't just fuck her.

"Take it off." is what he heard himself saying instead. Sansa paused at his instruction, probably confused at his rapid change of direction. Sandor quickly took off his tunic before stepping into her, grabbing her face in both his hands, her little body pressed up against the front of his. There was no way she couldn't feel his hardness against her belly.

"You said you wanted this, damn you." he growled. "So either take me, or kick me out. But don't fucking play with me." Rising on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his chin and when he tilted his head down to her, she kissed his mouth. He didn't have much experience in the act, whores tended not to want to kiss him and he didn't care to kiss them knowing how many men's cocks they'd had in their mouths throughout their work day, so he kissed her back unsurely, a little clumsily but when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her breasts into his chest, he growled and hooked an arm around her hips and lifted her to him so he didn't have to bend to her. It was obvious she had even less experience in the act of kissing than him, but she met his ardor and kissed him back just as hungrily. Soon they found a rhythm together, a pace that matched and he was eating at her mouth with slow bites, his tongue pushing past her lips to touch hers. She gasped at the contact, and he groaned. Lowering her onto the mattress, he followed her down, moving his mouth to trail his tongue and lips across her jawline, and then down her throat. Her shift laces untied, he was able to easily slip a hand inside the neckline and touch her breast. Sansa moaned and shivered at the touch so he did it again, cupping her fully and kneading the flesh until her back arched and her legs hesitantly spread for him to settle between. He pushed the fabric of her shift down, plumping her breast up and out of it while he kissed down her chest, his mouth already watering for the want of taking her into his mouth.

"Sandor." Sansa gasped his name just as lips brushed her nipple.

Just as the voice came from outside the tent.

"Your Grace!" It was the Tarth woman's voice, followed by the knocking of her knuckles on the support beam next to the tent flap. "Lady Sansa!" she yelled again. "Are you decent? There's trouble." Without speaking, Sandor rolled off of her and she quickly jumped off the bed, relacing her shift.

"One moment, Brienne." Sansa called, looking over at him with wide eyes as she pulled her discarded dress back on. Sandor winced as he dug a hand into his breeches and readjusted his raging erection. Sansa gaped at him and he shook his head. Damn fucking wench. He'd never wanted to kill a woman so badly in his life. Someone had better be fucking dying for her to interrupt what was about to happen. Sandor got his tunic back on and grabbed up his mail shirt and sword belt.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered to him as he moved to the back of the tent, where he would sneak inside under the canvas occasionally.

"It's alright." he lifted the canvas and looked around. It was all clear. Tossing out his sword and mail shirt, he looked back at her. "Probably for the best." She looked hurt at that, but he didn't stick around longer. Ducking out from the tent, he grabbed his mail and sword belt and went to his unused tent that sat next to hers. The perks of being a sworn shield was that he didn't have to share tents with other soldiers. Going inside, he quickly put back on his armor and tied his sword belt on. Grabbing a cloak, he went outside to find the whole of the camp alive.

"What's going on?" he asked Ser Jaime, who was scowling hard as he made his way to Sansa's tent.

"We've been spotted." he said as he kept stride towards the tent, and Sandor fell in step with him. "The Ironborn know we're coming."

 

"How?" Sansa demanded when Jaime told her the news.

"Scouts, apparently." Jaime sighed.

"I told these men no fucking fires outside." Edmure Tully seethed. "How could they have been so stupid?"

"What do we do now?" Sansa asked.

"We've lost the element of surprise." This from Brynden Tully. "They know we're coming now."

"They wont come to us." Jaime assured them. "They wont leave the sanctuary of the towers."

"You say it's just a token force." Sansa spoke. "There isn't many men holding the towers?"

"No." Jaime agreed. "Likely only 70 men at most." Sansa nodded, looking at the map.

"We send our main forces straight at it." Sansa motioned to the front of the moat, the south side. "We distract the men that are there while a smaller force of our men round to the North side with the crannogmen. Flank them and attack." she traced the lines that the crannogmen had pointed out on the map before. The men in her war council stood silent for a long moment.

"It's a good plan." Brynden Tully finally said. "It gives them what they're expecting, what they're waiting for, but we still have the surprise of the flank attack." He looked up at Jaime who was watching Sansa. "What do you think, Lannister?" Jaime tapped the fingers of his golden hand on the table once then smiled at Sansa.

"I think for a girl who doesn't want to be queen, you fit the station entirely too well. Maybe even better than your brother ever fit being king." Sansa flushed at that, but Sandor could now tell it wasn't in embarrassment but in anger. She didn't take kindly to people speaking ill of her family.

"Do you agree with the plan of attack, Ser Jaime?" Sansa asked evenly and Jaime grinned even broader.

"I do." he nodded. "And the sooner the better." he looked at the generals. "Go get your men ready. We will leave in an hour."

As one of the best swords Sandor was chosen for the smaller force that would circle the towers with the crannogmen. He was strapping on a few more daggers to his sword belt when Sansa found him near the group of small boats that would take them down the narrow water way to the North side of the towers without being seen.

"You're always on the front lines." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"The effect of being too bloody good at what I do." again she tried to smile, but again it didn't reach her eyes.

"Stay safe." she lifted a hand as if she were going to touch his arm, but then remembered they were surrounded by the other soldiers all packing into the boats, her uncle Edmure amongst them, and dropped it down to rest on her stomach. "I would say may the Gods be with you, but you'd just say something terrible so I'll simply say may your sword be swift and sure."

"It always is." he patted the hilt of said sword, then turned back to the boat he stood next to. They would have to walk them a few miles into the marsh before the water would be deep enough for them to board.

"Sandor." her voice almost sounded panicked and he grimaced a little, glancing about at the other men but no one paid attention to them as they readied themselves for battle. He turned back to her. She stood with her hands on her hips and her eyes shimmering, but she looked determined and willful.

"What is it, Your Grace?" he made a show of using her title in front of the others but he never called her that after she'd asked him not to.

"It wasn't for the best." she said softly, but surely. "Inevitable, yes, but not for the best."

"Come on, Clegane!" her uncle Edmure shouted from the front of the boats. Sandor cast one last look at Sansa, giving her a barely there nod of agreement and her smile finally reached her eyes.

When they had reached the deeper water of the narrow water roads and he'd climbed aboard the small boats with the other men, he forced himself not to think of the words she'd said to him in her tent. Of how she wanted marriage, to him. He pushed the memory of how soft her skin felt, and how good her mouth tasted out of his mind, ignoring the phantom feel of her breast filling his hand. He had to focus. There was a battle to be fought. Men to be killed. And her home to be returned. He'd think about it all later. After the battle was done and the Moat was theirs, then he'd consider what he didn't want to consider. The prospect of being her husband. And all the problems such a marriage would cause her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written and rewritten this too many times. I'm still not happy with it, but I'm also done lol. So here you go :)

Sansa was coming to find that she hated battles. They seemed to last forever and she had nothing to do other than pace around her tent and wait, not knowing what was going on with her men. Or with Sandor.

She flushed every time she thought of what they'd been doing when Brienne called for her. Which, thinking about it, was actually quite odd. Brienne never knocked when it came to the tent. For one, there wasn't anything to knock on other than searching for the support beam, and another she helped Sansa to change and bathe frequently, so why would she feel the need to pause and ask if she were decent before coming in? She looked over at the other woman, who was standing in the open flaps of the tent, looking out in the direction the main army had went, Ser Jaime along with them. She knew. Sansa knew she knew. She wasn't entirely sure how the other woman knew what was happening inside the tent, but she had. And she hadn't told anyone, had even given them the minutes they needed for Sandor to leave. Sansa wondered at why she would do that, but didn't dare ask. She wouldn't broach that subject. It was best to leave lay.

She couldn't believe that she'd actually allowed what happened to happen. She didn't regret it, or want to take it back. She'd been wanting it for longer than she could think, but hadn't ever thought she'd actually be brave enough to do anything about it. And she told him she wanted to marry him. Sansa groaned out loud and pressed a hand to her forehead. Not exactly how she always pictured her marriage proposal, and to make matters worse, he never answered her. Not exactly the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her, but it was certainly up there.

Jaime had been right in his insistence that the battle would be fairly short. A small guard had come back to tell them of the victory and help tear down the rest of the camp before taking them to the towers of the moat. There she learned she hadn't lost any men, and only a few had been wounded. The Ironborn had only left sixty men behind, two of which they took as prisoner. And it was one of those captive that told her of Theon Greyjoy, and how he was still residing at Winterfell as the bastard Ramsay's servant. Sansa had boiled at that. Theon Greyjoy had been a brother to her brothers. They had been raised together, trained together, played together. He had been treated better by her lady mother than Jon Snow had been. And he had repaid her brothers and her family by taking their home and killing her little brothers. Brothers that were just little boys, Bran crippled. Knowing he was there, alive and breathing, increased Sansa's want to get home. Theon had things to answer for. And Sansa would have those answers, and then she'd have his head just as she had Walder Frey's.

After regaining Moat Cailin, she and Sandor had agreed to cool the fires that seemed to burn between them. Or, at least that's what he said. He told her that she needed space and time to think about what she was offering, and that he needed to focus right now on the war at hand. She couldn't argue. It was the truth. She needed to focus on the war as well. When she had told him she agreed, though, she hadn't realized that meant he would no longer share her bed. He told her the risk of getting caught was too high. Sansa had nodded her consent, but inside it felt as he'd shoved a dagger into her heart. Not only had he pretty much denied her offer of both marriage and her body, at least for the moment, he was now leaving her alone at night as well. It hurt more than he could possibly imagine, but she held her tongue and her tears. There was a war going on, and he was the one that was going into battles and risking his life. She would give him the space he needed to focus on keeping himself alive. Even if it nearly killed her to do so.

The rest of the way to Winterfell was wrought with troubles and hardships. Snow was falling endlessly and twice they'd been met on the fields with Bolton's men. But both times they'd managed to push them back, forcing them to retreat. Her Uncle Brynden had been right. Once the entered the North, men flocked to her ranks, declaring fealty to her as Queen in the North, a title she could no longer scorn. The Wolf Queen, they called her. She'd even heard the whispered title of the Ice Wolf. As the stories told it, she had no heart, for it had died along with her wolf, Lady. Other's told the story that she had eaten her wolf's heart. Sansa wasn't angry with the stories, or either title. They were somewhat true. A part of her had died the night Lady did. And her brother had endured his share of tales and titles. They Young Wolf, he'd been called. And the story went he would shed his skin during battle and enter his wolf and eat the throats of the men he fought. It felt almost like a right of passage for a Stark, one she endured with a sense of pride.

She spent endless hours with the war council, and even more with Jaime Lannister and Brienne. Over and over they combed countless plans of attack. Sansa was able to help immensley when he brought out the map of Winterfell. She new of tunnels and entryways that weren't on it. She found herself wishing Bran were there. He knew the castle inside and out, far better than anyone else, her father included. He would know every inch. But she knew more than Lannister did, and she knew it better than Bolton or Theon. She wanted Theon alive, so she could make him face what he had done and answer to her personally, but she knew this would be different than the attack at the Twins. The Bolton's knew they were coming and they had more men than Walder Frey. If Theon died in battle, than he died in battle, but she informed all the commanders and generals that she wanted him alive, if at all possible, along with Roose Bolton.

The nearer they drew to Winterfell, the stronger her desire to get home climbed. She spent hours outside, breathing in the ice and the snow and the cold that were as much a part of her childhood as her mothers songs and her fathers voice. She felt closer to them here, even though neither of them had died here and neither of them rested here. But her father had been the North, and the North had been her father. They camped on the edge of the woods, Winterfell's outline in the far distance, grey against a grey and white sky. She stood at the edge of the trees, looking to her old home, which was so close but still so far away.

"You'll have it back." she didn't need to turn to know who spoke. His steel on stone voice was as much a distinct part of him as the scars that marred his face, or the anger that was always simmering in the depths of his grey eyes. She had known he was there before he spoke. She could feel him.

"But what will I lose in that pursuit?"

"What are you going on about?" he leaned against a tree near her and Sansa glanced over at him. Although they no longer shared her bed, they had gone about their days as they always had. He went with her everywhere, trained with her in the evenings and in the mornings and ate with her at meals. She still missed him, though.

"These men." she motioned back towards the encampment. "They follow me without question. So willing to die, just to get me my home back."

"You said it before, girl." he pushed off the tree. "You are the North. And these lands haven't been the same since a Stark hasn't been at Winterfell. These men are willing to die for that. To have back what was taken from them." Sansa looked away from him, back into the distance.

"This battle," she took a deep breath. "it's so much more than anything we've done so far."

"And you'll win it." he said firmly, so sure. "Men will die, some of them ours some of them theirs, but in the end you'll retake Winterfell."

"What comes after that?" she whispered the question that had been haunting her since the evening he told her he wouldn't be joining her in her bed any longer.

"You rule the North." Sansa closed her eyes. That hadn't been what she was talking about. She was asking about him. About them. But she remembered his need to be focused and she wouldn't distract him with her own silly worries and need to be reassured. They had heard of the Targaryen girl crossing the Narrow Sea with her armies and her dragons. She would likely be at Kings Landing now, sacking it. Setting it aflame as her mad father once had. Sansa found she didn't care. She hoped it burnt to the ground. But the best thing about the Mother of Dragons timing, was the distraction is caused in their favor. The south, or the King, wouldn't send armies to help Roose Bolton now. Not with an attack on their own front steps. An attack they would likely succumb to.

"I wouldn't have made it this far without you." she told him. "I owe all of this to you."

"You don't owe me shit." he snapped. "I owed you, damnit. Still do. I should have taken you from the rats nest long before the Blackwater burned." Sansa started at his sudden anger, looking at him as he stared her down with eyes blazing. "They beat you and stripped you and I didn't do a damn thing. I should have taken that boy kings golden head on the battlements that day."

"And they would have taken yours." she told him softly. "You did what you could for me. Far more than any of the others. You ignored a Kings orders when he told you to hit me. You told me how to survive his cruelty. And you gave up everything you had ever worked for in life the night you took me away."

"It was shit life anyway." he grumbled, looking past her to the trees. "None of it meant anything. The only thing that got me from day to day was the idea of killing Gregor." he scoffed and shook his head. Sansa felt a stab of guilt. She was getting her vengeance on everyone that had hurt her, but he had never gotten his. Jaime Lannister had told him of Gregor's death. How he had died after killing Oberyn Martell from the poison on the red vipers spear. Sandor had brooded for a long time after hearing that.

"I'm sorry you never got that chance."

"Doesn't matter." he looked up at her. "None of it matters now. It all stopped mattering the second you looked at me." He turned away from her and started back towards the camp after he'd spoken, like he was afraid to see her reaction to it. It hurt her to see him like that. So unsure of himself.

"Sandor." she called out to him before he'd gotten too far away. He didn't turn to face her, but he stopped to listen. "Tomorrow you leave me for Winterfell. Tonight..." she swallowed against the ache in her throat. "Tonight I would have you with me, in my bed, just to be there, if it pleases you. I understand you need time, and you can have all you need, but please." she stopped talking when her voice broke and waited a moment for her to regain herself. Sandor still didn't turn to her, his body ridged as he waited.

"Please don't leave me alone tonight." His head bowed momentarily and then he started walking again without responding to her.

That night she lay alone in her bed on her side, staring at the fire in the brazier until she couldn't hold them open any longer. She let her eyes close and a sob tore through her. She didn't try to stop them. She let it come, let it consume her as her body shook with the force of the sobs and the linen of her pillow became soaked with her tears. It didn't matter. No one was here to hear her or see her. So lost in her pain she never heard the footsteps approaching, but then the furs that were covering her were being pulled back and the familiar solid strength embraced her back. Fresh tears welled up and she rolled in his arms to face him. He tucked her head beneath his chin and his big fingers combed through her hair, massaging her scalp gently as he soothed her.

"I thought you wouldn't come." she whispered hoarsely into his chest. He let the arm that was over the top of her fall until his fingers smoothed up and down her spine, the arm under her still cradling the back of her head.

"I never bloody left." his voice rumbled in his chest against her cheek, his breath warming the top of her head. She held him back tightly, surrounded him as he surrounded her, and together they slept soundly.

This battle Sansa would stay back in the woods alone with Brienne. They couldn't spare any more men. Sansa had begged to go, but was firmly told no. Sandor had told her he couldn't fight with her there. He needed to be able to pay attention to what was going on and he wouldn't be able to do that if he was constantly worried about where she was. So she had Brienne stayed in the woods, at a high point where the castle could be seen in the distance. If they were to fail, she and Brienne would flee back to Moat Cailin and shelter with Howland Reed. Sansa didn't like that idea, but had no others that were accepted so she reluctantly agreed. As the sun rose, it's light and warmth shielded by the dense grey cloud cover, the sounds of steel on steel and distant yelling filled the cold air. The army has split into four separate units, two of which would enter the tunnels and attack from inside while the other two would meet Bolton's forces outside the gates. As she and Brienne watched from their safe distance, they witnessed Bolton's forces slowly being pushed back, and then there was nothing to see because they'd gone back beyond the wall.

"Roose likely called them back in when our units came out from the tunnels." Brienne had told her. That was what they'd been hoping for. But it would be hours still before they would know if their plan worked or not. Jaime had told them to watch the guard tower at the gate. He would make sure there would be a fire set there if their forces were failing to give she and Brienne enough time to escape. As the day drew on to evening, they both stood watching the tower closely, Sansa praying to the old gods and the new that it would remain unburnt. Just as the light was fading from the skies, Sansa seen a rider break out through the front gates, followed closely by two more mounted men. Brienne tugged her further into the woods and behind a tree with her sword drawn until the banner one of the riders carried came into view. It was a field of white with a grey direwolf racing across it.

The siege had been successful, but many of her soldiers had lost their lives. Ser Jaime had been wounded, a deep gouge in his upper thigh that nearly cost him his entire leg. Brienne tended to him with the utmost care. Her uncle Brynden was also among those badly injured, having lost three of his fingers to a Bolton's sword, but it was the slash to his lower belly that concerned Sansa although the Maester assured her it wasn't fatal. Sandor hadn't remained untouched, but he was sound enough after a few stitches to his left shoulder and bandaging to the cut across his neck were an arrow had grazed him. Roose Bolton had been killed in the first wave, but his bastard, along with Theon Greyjoy, had been taken captive. She had no use of the bastard, so she sentenced him to hang come morning. Theon she had sent to the cells to be dealt with at first light.

Winterfell was not how she left it. It had been burnt down and nearly destroyed in the sack, but Bolton had been rebuilding it. Sansa would take over that task and have it put back as close to it was originally that she could recall. She slept in her old bedroom, the one she had shared with Arya years ago, only now she slept alone. Sandor hadn't gone to bed at all. He had too much to tend to with the bodies and the few prisoners that would be left alive.

Morning came without her having slept. She dressed in her grey velvet and armored corset, doing her hair up in a braid before going to the great hall. There servants were pulling down the Dreadfort banners with the flayed man. Soon the grey direwolves of the Stark house would hang there.

"Your Grace." she was greeted by her uncle Edmure who motioned to the lone chair that sat on the dieses, the other chairs and table having been removed for now. Sandor stood to the right of it in full armor, his sword drawn and resting against the arm of her chair. It was there for her to use, just as he was there for her. Sansa walked up the few steps and took her seat, motioning for the guards to bring Theon in. He was brought in by two soldiers. He wore chains on his wrists, walked slightly hunched over, and looked nothing like the handsome young boy she remembered. Her throat constricted tightly at the sight of him. She wasn't so sure she would be able to retain the composure she had with Walder Frey.

"Leave us." she told the guards in the room.

"Your Grace..." her uncle started but when she looked at him he nodded and all the guards left. Theon waited just below the stage on which she sat without looking at her.

"Look at me Theon." his eyes finally lifted to hers and she clenched her jaw tightly for a moment. "How could you?" she whispered harshly, thankful she'd made the others leave. There was nothing regal about her at the moment.

"Not Theon." he mumbled. "Reek."

"What?" she snapped.

"Theon Greyjoy is dead. My name is Reek." Sansa sucked in an angry breath. The guards had told her what had been done to Theon, how he had been mutilated. She found she had no sympathy for him.

"No." she growled. "You are Theon Greyjoy. You are alive. It is Bran and Rickon that are dead." His eyes flicked to hers and he winced. "It is Robb that is dead. Don't you forget them. Don't you block out their memories. They were your brothers. Robb loved you. Where were you when he was being killed, Theon?" she rose from the chair, her anger making it unable to sit still. "Why were you not by his side?" Theon swallowed hard, bowing his head as silent tears tracked down his cheeks. Sansa wasn't moved.

"How could you kill them, Theon?" she purposefully used his name again and again, refusing to let him slip into being someone else. "Rickon was just a boy. A little boy, Theon. And Bran," her throat welled up. "Bran was crippled. And you killed them. You had their bodies burnt. They were your brothers, Theon. How could you?" he shrank back and Sansa wanted to roar. Stomping down the steps she stood inches away from him, and could feel Sandor's silent heat at her back. She reached out and grabbed his chin, yanking his head up so he had to look at her.

"Answer me, Theon. Look into my eyes and tell me how you could do what you did."

"I didn't." he mumbled and Sansa struck him across the face before she could compose herself.

"Stop denying it to yourself. You are Theon Greyjoy, not Reek. You are the one who killed my brothers and took my home!"

"It wasn't Bran and Rickon." Sansa felt her heart stutter in her chest as every muscle in her body tensed.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, grabbing hold of his head with both hands. They were the same height now. "What does that mean, Theon?"

"I couldn't find them." he cried. "It was just two farmer boys. It wasn't Bran and Rickon." her fingers tightened on his face, pinching into the skin but he didn't complain and Sansa didn't ease her grip. Her head felt dizzy.

"Where are they?" she heard herself asking, but it sounded so far away. It was then she felt the wetness of her tears and with them came another surge of anger. "Where are they, Theon?" she nearly yelled. "Tell me! Where did they go?"

"I don't know. Them and the Reed kids went missing, along with Hodor. We never found them." Sansa shut her eyes and pushed Theon away from her as she stumbled back. A firm hand between her shoulder blades stopped her from falling.

"Uncle Edmure." she called her uncle to her, although he was already there.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Take Theon back to the cells." she swallowed. "Have him questioned until you have every ounce of information out of him, but take him from my sight."

"Sansa..." She snapped her eyes to Theon in warning. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been with Robb. I should have died with him that night."

"Yes." she agreed. "You should have."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Sickness struck the Nevermore household with a vengeance! We're all better now, though. So here's a long one with a happy ending ;)

The journey from Moat Cailin to Winterfell was quite possibly the worst days of Sandor Clegane's life. He slept in a cold bed that was far too short for him and not quite wide enough, in a cold tent that he never lit a fire in. Alone. He fucking hated not having Sansa next to him. It caused an odd sense of anxiety with her not there. He was jumping out of his skin at every noise that came from near her tent. It was all self induced, though and he knew it. Sansa had looked so wounded when he told her he wasn't going to sleep with her any longer, and that fucking hurt. But it was the only thing he could think of. Sleeping next to her when he'd already resolved to not take her would be the purest of tortures. So he stayed away. And he was still tortured.

He meant to stay away the night before taking Winterfell as well, but couldn't. Something in her plea, in the undisguised need in her voice, and he pulled himself from his too small and too cold bed and went to her. Hearing her cry like that, seeing her small little body shaking with the power of her tears and it tore something inside of him. He'd seen her cry like that before. At Kings Landing when her father lost his head. In court when Joffrey had her stripped. During the Bread Riots when the men were trying to rape her. On the road when he forced her to accept that her brother and mother were dead. But it had never been _because_ of him. He had never caused those tears. Until then. He'd never felt more worthless. And he was never so grateful as when she turned to him and held him back.

Seeing her with Theon had reminded him just how self possessed she was, though. No matter how feminine and fragile she may seem, she was a bloody fucking wolf with a backbone made of pure steel. Immediately she sent a search party out for her brothers and sent a raven to her bastard brother on the Wall telling him to keep an eye out. It was a fair assumption that they could have headed there, Jon Snow being the only blood they thought they had left. For the first week there, they were both so busy with things that their sleep times never matched. She with overseeing the rebuilding of the castle and reinstating a Stark as leader of the North. He with dealing with prisoners and handling his new position as temporary master-at-arms. Edmure Tully left at the end of the first week, heading back to Riverrun to his pregnant wife. His uncle Brynden would join him once he recovered enough from his wounds. Edmure would send Jeyne Westerling to Sansa once he arrived. By accounts, she would have another three turns of the moon before her baby would be born. The heir of Winterfell, if it were a boy. Sansa told him it didn't matter. It was still her blood, her brothers blood, and it would live in it's fathers home and be raised as a rightful Stark should, male or female.

She reminded him every day, at every turn, that she wasn't the ignorant woman child that was singing love songs and twittering over knights that she had been when he first met her. And it was never more obvious as the day she took Theon Greyjoy's head. It had been hard on her, far harder than when she dealt with Walder Frey. Theon at one time had been like a brother to her. For Theon's part he seemed remorseful of his actions and had accepted her justice easily. Almost like he wanted it. And maybe he did. Sandor could imagine the sort of hell that boy had been through at the hands of the Bolton bastard. Death was a welcome release from his pain and torment. Sansa had been strong and proficient, his sword quick and sure in her hand. The face of a Queen until he followed her into one of the back halls and she'd broken down and then she was simply Sansa again and in need of comfort.

Sansa never brought up marriage again. He was both relieved and worried at that. He had spent more time thinking about that then he should have. He wanted her as his wife, he knew that now. He wanted to be the man who cared for and protected her for the rest of her life, and not just as a sworn shield. He wanted to be the only man she showed her weaknesses to, who she let see the scared young girl that was still inside of her. There was no bloody way he would be able to watch her marry another man. To sit back and watch as some other bastard touched her, kissed her, took her to bed. He couldn't do it. But he also wouldn't force her to uphold a statement she'd said in the heat of the moment, especially now that she was back home.

"Sandor?" he heard her sweet voice chirp out his name from the doorway of the armory where he was currently replacing a row of tourney swords.

"In here." his own voice bounced off the stone walls and reverberated. A second later Sansa was standing next to him.

"What are you plans for this evening?" she asked him cheerfully, far happier than he'd seen her in...probably since before her wolf died.

"Nothing." it was the first night since they'd been here that he didn't have twenty different things to do before he could go to bed. Sansa's smile broadened and he got the feeling his lack of duties had something to do with her.

"Wonderful." she hooked her arm through his and started tugging him towards the doorway.

"What the hells has gotten into you, little bird?"

"I want to show you something." she chirped, a little bounce in her step. Sandor shook his head, repressing a smile. She took him outside the walls and into the Godswood. They walked together in silence until they reached a dark pool next to a large pale wierwood tree with a face carved into it, it's eyes bleeding sap.

"What is this?" he asked in a low voice, unsure of why he felt the need to speak softly.

"It's the heart tree." she told him, speaking just as softly. "My father used to come here often, pray to the old gods."

"He never kept with the new?"

"No." she smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before releasing him. "The new gods were my mothers. He built a small sept for her here. It's quite beautiful, but he never spent much time there." he glanced down at her as she stared at the face in the tree. "I never spent much time here." she went on. "I always went with my mother to the sept. I didn't understand my fathers gods and this place frightened me as a child." Sandor could understand. This place felt...hallowed. "In Kings Landing I started visiting the Godswood whenever I could. No one ever bothered me there, and I was always alone. I felt I came to an understanding there. I felt a connection with my father there, and also with his gods." she turned to face him and he could see the tears that shimmered in her eyes, but she didn't cry.

"I told you once that I would never marry." Sandor swallowed hard. "But if I were to ever marry, I think I would like to marry here, in front of the old gods instead of in a sept."

"Sansa." he said her name and took a step closer to her. She smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Marrying me would be a mistake."

"No." she sounded so sure, so confident. "I have made many mistakes, Sandor. Far too many, but you are not one. You will never be one."

"No one in the North would ever accept me as Warden, or King. I'm a southern born second son to House Clegane."

"And you wont be Warden, or King." she touched his scarred cheek. "If we were to ever marry you wouldn't have to take on those things. I would still be Queen, and you would simply be my royal consort and hopefully still my master-at-arms. Nothing more." she laughed lightly. "And you can still refuse people to call you Lord, even though that is what you would be, and rightfully so. Sandor Clegane, Lord of Winterfell, husband to Queen Sansa Stark." Sandor smiled at her mirth.

"Queen Sansa Stark." he repeated. "Would you not then be Queen Sansa Clegane?"

"Would you want me to be a Clegane?" she asked honestly, searching his face. "Because I would. I'd do anything for you. But if I am right, and you don't want that, then I can make you a Stark and you will no longer be the second son of a minor House. You will be my family."

"Are you asking me?" he demanded to know, his smile gone now, replaced by seriousness. "Don't play with me, girl."

"Don't call me girl, and I wont." she smiled to let him know she was teasing. "But, no. I am not asking. I'm just letting you know what your options could be if you should decide you want to ask me." Sandor barked out a short laugh at that and reached for her hand.

"I'm not a fucking knight in those stories and songs you loved so much, so I'm going to bugger this up."

"You wont, I promise." she whispered and Sandor shook his head. Always so confident.

"I don't give a rats arse what my last name will be, or yours for that matter. And I bloody don't care what people call me, just so long as you're part of the bargain."

"So you want to marry me?" she acted surprised and Sandor chuckled.

"Whatever keeps you in my bed for the rest of our lives." Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and he laughed again. He'd warned her he was no gallant fucking knight.

It was another fortnight before the wedding was arranged, in the Godswood at the Heart Tree like she'd wanted. Sandor had little input. He wanted it to be in the evening, and no feast afterwards, or bedding ceremony. Sansa had agreed. That's how he found himself standing under the wierwood, torches and hanging lanterns lighting the space and reflecting off the dark water of the pond. Jaime Lannister was the sole person that stood with him. He found that mildly ironic. The Kingslayer being the only one to stand with him at his own fucking wedding. But Ser Jaime planned on staying with Sansa at Winterfell now that his sister was dead at the hands of the new Queen of the Seven, the Targaryen girl, and his children were all gone as well. He swore fealty to Sansa and was acting as Commandor of her garrison. Sandor wore no armor, which made him feel awkward, with brand new clothing of black and grey. The cloak he wore bore no sigil or insignia. It was just plain grey. He shifted nervously as he looked out at the sparse crowd. They would have to have a feast and a party at some point for the wedding. The people needed it, and Queen Daenerys had written Sansa to say she would like to be a part of the festivities of her fellow Queen's wedding, but for now it was just Brienne, the newly arrived and heavily pregnant Jeyne Westerling Stark, the a few of the war council generals and a young woman named Jeyne Poole that had been forcibly married to Ramsay Snow. Sansa was once her friend, and was slowly getting the girl to recover from the treatment she'd recieved at the bastards hands.

Just as he was getting restless and bored, his feet growing cold from the snow beneath him, he seen Brynden Tully slowly walking towards him with Sansa on his arm. She wore a fine dress of white, the skirts dragging the snow and blending in. Along the sleeves and hemlines there were dark grey stitching of direwolves chasing each other. Her cloak was the same dark grey, with white fur around the collar. She looked...beautiful. Sandor had the sudden urge to run. The last thing he could remember wanting as much as he wanted her, as he wanted this, was that damn toy knight. And look what that had gotten him.

"Never thought I'd see the day where a little girl has the fearsome Hound trembling in his boots." Jaime whispered in his ear and Sandor turned to glare at him.

"Fuck off, Kingslayer." he rumbled low. "I've seen the way you come out of your quarters, all weak kneed and panting after being with the Tarth wench."

"Fair point." Jaime grinned, completely unashamed. "But at least I'm not thinking of running from the wench." Sandor scowled at the other man, hating that it was that obvious. Then he looked back at Sansa as Brynden stopped just a few feet from them.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" Jaime said the words he'd been instructed to say.

"Queen Sansa, of House Stark. Daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Ruler of the North." Brynden said proudly, giving his neice a wink at the end. Sansa flushed.

"And who gives her?" Jaime asked.

"Her uncle, Lord Brynden Tully of Riverrun." Brynden and Sandor made eye contact. "And who comes to claim her?" This is where they'd argued over what should be said. But he refused to be embarassed by who and what he was. And he would not deny himself.

"Sandor of House Clegane." he answered, looked over at Sansa who smiled up at him.

"Queen Sansa, Your Grace," Jaime spoke again, but neither of them looked to him. "Do you take this man as your Lord husband?" Sansa's smile widened and Sandor felt his heart beating so hard against his chest he was certain it would burst at any second.

"I take this man."

"And you, Sandor," Jaime had a smile in his voice and Sandor would have punched him if he'd been able to look away from the bright blue eyes that contained him. "Do you take this woman to be your Lady wife?"

"I take this woman." with the words came a sense of lightness. An ease to the constriction in his chest. Sansa laughed.

"In the eyes of the old gods, and in the light of the new, I name thee husband and wife." Jaime slapped his shoulder lightly. "You can cloak your lady wife now, new Stark. And bring her under your protection" Sandor ignored Jaime's jape as Brynden Tully removed Sansa's maiden cloak. She took a step closer to him, smiling all the while, looking like the fucking Maiden made real as she turned her back to him. Sandor removed his own cloak, one that didn't hold a House sigil as he was taking her House name instead of her taking his, and draped it across her shoulders. Sansa turned back to him once it was on and he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss to her lips when all he really wanted to do was pick her up in his arms and devour her. But her uncle was watching, as well as many men he had to work with daily, so he restrained himself. The small crowd cheered and Brynden shook his hand, Jaime threw out a few more taunts.

"You sure about that bedding ceremony?" he taunted. "Might be you need a few pointers."

"For a man with one hand you're awfully anxious to loose the other."

"No maiming on our wedding day, Lord Stark." Sansa grinned up at him, linking her arm with his. Sandor lifted his brow at her and she laughed lightly again. A laughter that was cut short when he knelt slightly and scooped her up in his arms. She let out a dainty little peep, her arms flying up to grasp hold of his neck like he'd actually drop her.

"You had your wedding, Your Grace." he said into her ear, enjoying the way she shivered. "Now it's time for a proper bedding." Sandor carried Sansa out of the Godswood to the sound of people cheering and whistling. He would take her to her chambers, formally her parents chambers, that he would share with her from now on. The thought almost made him want to sprint there, but it was a long walk as it were and he wanted his strength when they got there.

"Do you plan on carrying me the entire way, dear husband?" Sansa asked after placing a gentle kiss to his good cheek.

"Aye." he nodded. "You walk too slow."

Sansa was nervous, as a proper maiden should be on her wedding night, but Sandor was happy to see it wasn't fear of him that had her trembling and stuttering, but rather the fear of the unknown. He sat her on her feet at the foot of their bed and gently turned her around so he could undo the laces of her dress, finding her free of both shift and corset underneath. Letting his fingers trace the long line of her sleak spine, he almost grinned when she sucked in a breath and trembled. He kept her facing away from him as he pushed the gown off her shoulders and she pulled her arms free. It caught around her hips. He kissed the length of her spine, going to a knee behind her as he worked the dress off her hips and let the fabric pool around her feet. He looked up the length of her back, nibbling the dimples at the small of it as her arms crossed over her breasts that he couldn't see anyway.

"Step out." he held her hips to give her balance as she stepped free of the fabric, then he smoothed his hands down the outsides of her legs to her ankles, lifting each foot in turn to remove her shoes. Staying on his knee, he grasped her hips again and spun her around to face him. She squeeked in surprise, but didn't try to fight him. His height put him level with the shallow dip of her navel. He kissed the pale skin just under it then looked up at her face, her arms still crossed over her breasts, hiding them from him.

"You're still fully clothed." she panted, the flush on her cheeks spreading out across her chest. He stood before her, holding her gaze, and kicked out of his boots.

"Would you like to undress me, my little wife, or would you rather I do it myself?"

"I've never undressed a man before." she told him, licking her lips.

"Far easier than all those laces and hidden clasps of undressing a woman." She hesitated, then slowly let her arms unfold from her breasts as she reached for the laces at the neck of his tunic. Sandor let his eyes take her in, resisting touching her until she was done undressing him. She was better than he'd remembered from the brief glimpse he'd gotten the night of Moat Cailin. Breasts full and firm, resting high on her chest with pretty pink nipples that were beaded tightly.

"Lift up." her words broke his persual of her teats and he lifted his arms, letting her pull the tunic up until she couldn't reach anymore and he took over, tossing the fabric somewhere behind her.

"Gods." she breathed out, her fingers gently grazing across the thick hair matting his chest. "You look even larger without clothing." her eyes flicked to his. "How is that even possible?"

"Years of swinging a sword." his voice grated in his own ears as her fingers continued to comb through the hair on his chest, the tips brushing against his skin, tracing a scar as she passed it. He knew he wasn't what she'd always pictured for her husband on her wedding night. He was massive. His body hard lines and angles, a weapon forged in war and battle, covered in a map of scars that testified to his years of killing. He was nothing like the soft, pretty boys she had pictured. Boys like Joffrey or Ser Loras. He was neither pretty, or soft. And he was most definatly not a boy. Her persual of his chest with her fingers was cut off when he lifted both hands and framed her breasts, pushing them together and up. She gasped, her hands flashing to his wrists to grip them lightly.

"Sandor, I," he cut off her words by pressing his mouth to hers. He didn't want to hear her tell him to stop, because he would even though he didn't want to. She didn't fight the kiss or turn her head away. She went on tiptoe to get closer to him, her hands sliding up his forearms to grip his biceps. Her nails pressed hard into his skin when he lightly pinched her nipples, a gasp sucking the air from his mouth before she pulled her lips away.

"My legs feel weak." she whimpered. He could feel her knees trembling. It was an odd situation to be in for him. He'd never made a woman weak in the knees before. In the past when he had the desire to fuck, it was whores he generally went to. On very rare occasions there had been a serving girl or other common woman, but no matter which it was, none of them had ever explored his body or let him explore theirs. They hadn't wanted to and neither had he. Taking a woman had always been a means to an end, usually with her face down on a mattress or bent over a table while he took her quickly. Never once had he spent enough time or effort to make sex good for his partner, nor had they wanted it. They had only wanted it to be done and over with quickly so they could get their money or go on about their miserable lives, just as he did. But looking down at Sansa, with her eyes wide and dark, her face flushed and her breathing rapid, he could see that she expected him to know what he was doing, to make it easy for her. To take care of her.

Bending slightly, he scooped her up again and carried her to the side of the bed and laid her on it. She scooted over to allow him to come down beside her. He'd heard the bawdy talk of both soldiers and knights about pleasing women, as well as the titters of whores. He knew the basic concept of what should be done, and the generalities of what women liked. So he took his time, moved slowly down her neck and chest, hands forcebly gentle on her skin as he touched her. He made it to her breast and licked her peak, sucking the tip into his mouth. Her back arched off the bed with a startled sound, her hands coming up to thread in his hair, pushing it away from his face. And his scars. He ignored the urge to pull her hands away from his face and focused on making her feel good.

"Sandor?" his name on her lips, in a voice he hardly recognized as hers, had his body tightening.

"Uh huh?" he didn't pull his mouth away from her body, both wanting to keep her stimulated and prevent her from seeing his scars and ruining what pleasure she was finding. He cupped her hips in both hands, sliding down her body to dip his tongue into the shallow dip of her belly button, enjoying the way her stomach hallowed and expanded with the force of her breathing.

"Sandor, please." it was then he realized she was tugging on his hair, trying to pull his face away from her. Resting his chin just above the band of her small clothes, he looked up at her.

"Please, what?" she shifted restlessly under him, the muscles of her thighs under his torso rthymically clenching.

"I...I want to please you as well, but I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." He groaned low in his throat as he pulled his body back up hers to take her mouth.

"Just lay there." he rasped against her lips, moving back down to her throat. "Let me know you like what I'm doing. Make all the noise you want." he bit the side of her neck and she yelped. "It's going to hurt." he pulled back from her, looking down into trusting blue eyes made nearly black by her arousal.

"I know." she smiled sweetly, cupping both sides of his face. "It's the only thing about this act that I really understand."

"I'm going to make it as good for you as I can, but it may be a while before you fully enjoy me being inside of you." She licked her lips and nodded, then brushed her mouth across his.

"It's alright." she whispered. "I trust you."

Taking her smallclothes off had more of an effect on him that it seemed to have on her. She lay there silently, allowing him to ease her legs wider so he could kneal between them. Seeing her like that, completely naked and open for him, the thatch of hair above the apex of her thighs only slightly darker than the hair on her head, made it hard for him to breath. He wondered if he'd even be able to get fully inside of her before he came. Dropping his hands to the tops of her thighs, he eased his thumbs to her center, pulling her apart. Sansa gasped loudly, her thigh muscles clenching, trying to pull her legs closed. His body didn't allow it.

"Relax, Sansa." he bent forward and kissed a hip bone at the same time he skimmed his thumb between her folds. Gods, she was hot. And wet. He hadn't expected that. He bit the side of his tongue hard to take the edge off his arousal. It didn't help. Turning his hand, he found her opening with his finger and swirled it around, gathering her wetness and spreading it. He could feel the thin layer that said she was untouched. As gently as he was able to with his rough fingers, he peeled it back until he could thrust his middle finger inside of her as deep as he could make it go. Sansa nearly screamed, her body jerking upright so she was face to face with him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, not moving.

"It feels...odd." she panted. "I feel full." Sandor winced. His cock was bigger than his finger by quite a lot. If she felt full already, how would she be able to take him? He started pumping inside of her gently, watching her face that was so close to his as she held her upper body up with her arms braced behind her. She glanced down at his hand, her mouth coming open before she squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall back slightly. The muscles around his finger loosened so he worked a second finger inside her. She left her eyes shut, her jaw tightening at the invasion but she didn't stop him and only tensed for a second. While he worked his fingers inside of her, trying to stretch her so she would take him more easily, with less pain, he absently rubbed around what he was doing with his thumb. There was a spot he'd heard of, a woman's point of pleasure. He'd never searched it out before, never cared to, but whores had touched themselves down there while he pumped inside of them. He knew when he found it. A hard knot of flesh that pertruded slightly from the rest of her folds. Sansa gasped loudly when his thumb brushed over it, her eyes flying open. He watched her face as he did it again and again, applying more pressure. After a few seconds her hips hesitantly started moving with him, her breathing rapid and shallow.

"Sandor." her voice sounded almost frightened. "What..." her arms seemed to give out then as she fell back onto the mattress, her body shifting restlessly, her inner muscles clenching and releasing around his fingers.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, wanting to make sure he wasn't misjudging her reaction of pain for pleasure, but she was moving with him, her wetness increasing along his fingers and palm.

"Yes." she gasped again, then moaned, bitting her bottom lip hard to stop herself.

"No." he leaned forward and sucked her bottom lip out of her mouth. "Don't stop. I want to hear you." She nodded and he pulled back slightly so he could look down at her. She looked aroused and uncertain and a little scared.

"It's alright." he told her. "Stop fighting it." Sandor flattened his thumb on her clit, pressed against it hard and rubbed in firm circles. And she came, startled sobs and moans she couldn't stop spilling from her mouth as her entire body lifted from the mattress slightly, her thighs trembling around his wrist where she'd clamped them together. It was the sexiest thing he could ever remember seeing and he stayed with her until she slumped back against the bed and shivered at his touch. He pulled his fingers free from her, hands shaking as he started undoing his small clothes. He needed to get inside of her before he embarassed himself completely.

"What was that?" she panted, watching him shyly as he rose up on knees to pull his small clothes down.

"You came." he rasped, shifting so he kicked the clothing off the bed. She looked at his cock and snapped her eyes back to his.

"Came? That's what it's called?"

"Coming, releasing, spending, peaking." he lowered himself over her, holding his upper body up with arms braced on either side of her head. "All words for having an orgasm."

"I didn't know it would feel good." she smiled, touched his face. "No wonder septas keep high born girls in the dark about the pleasure of being with a man."

"We haven't completely fucked yet, little bird." he reminded her, arching his hips into her so his length ran along her folds. She sucked in a breath at the contact and he bit back a curse at the wet, hot feel of her. "That's the part that hurts."

"I trust you." she said again, kissing his cheek. The scarred one.

"Alright." he reached between their bodies to grasp hold of himself, positioning the head at her entrance. "Hang on to me." She did, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted one of her legs next to his hip, then he slowly pressed forward. He'd taken her hymen with his fingers, but she was still tight, her muscles clenching to keep out the foreign invasion. He kept steady pressure, not going fast but still pushing forward.

"Fucking..." he grunted, pressing his plevis hard against hers once he was fulling inside of her. "hells." Sansa kept a tight hold on him, her eyes squeezed shut. A tear slipped from under her eyelid, slid down into her sweaty and mussed hair.

"I'm sorry." the words that he'd never said to anyone else in his life slipped out easily. "So fucking sorry." he leaned forward and kissed the wet trail the tear had left. "It won't always hurt."

"It's okay." she opened her eyes, another tear escaping. "I wanted you inside me. I'll always want you. No matter what." Sandor chuckled despite the burning need to thrust himself inside of her hard and fast until he didn't hurt anymore.

"You've piss poor taste in men, Your Grace."

"Once I did." she released her grip on his shoulders, her small hands smoothing down his sweaty back until she couldn't reach any longer. "Then I found you." Sandor clenched his own eyes shut now, pushing down the panic he felt at her expressing her feelings for him. She couldn't, shouldn't feel that way about him. He bowed his head into the bend of her neck and started moving, slowly at first but when she put up no resistance he started moving faster, harder. Every time his hips met hers she let out a small whimper. The sounds she was making almost as erotic as the hot, wet clasp of her body that he tunneled into.

"Shit." he gasped, his body tensing and the pressure building at the base of his spine. He didn't want to come. Not yet. He wanted to stay inside of her longer. But she felt too good. And likely she was just hoping he'd hurry up and finish so he would get out of her and let her find some relief. The thought of pulling out crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. The hot clasp of her body was too much to pull away from, even if the idea of a baby was almost as terrifying as fire. He came hard, absently biting down on her shoulder that was pressed against his mouth as he growled his release out. Working through the aftershocks, he shifted his hips back so he fell from her body, then slumped against her, kissing the red marks he'd left on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." he kissed the mark again, then rolled off of her so he wasn't smothering her. She didn't move, her chest rising and falling just as hard as his was.

"That was..." she trailed off, then giggled, her head falling to the side so she looked at him. He looked over at her too, but his eyes strayed down to her now glistening body still blessedly nude.

"Don't try and say you enjoyed that." he warned her. "It hurt and you bloody well know it."

"Yes." she nodded. "It did hurt. But I enjoyed the thing you did before. And it started to feel fairly good towards the end. It felt like my body was adjusting to your..." she blushed and her eyes flicked down to his now flacid cock. "um..."

"Cock." he supplied for her. "Dick. Penis. Member." he chuckled at her embarassed look. "It's been inside you now, girl. Best get used to the names for it." he rolled on his side towards her, letting his fingers slid down her lower belly and through the now wet and matted hair that covered her mound.

"Can't you say it?" he traced the lines of her folds, circled around her clit until she shivered. "That your cunt was adjusting to the size of my cock."

"Those are crass words." she breathily argued. "Not fit for a Lady to be speaking."

"It's unladylike to say cock but not so unladylike to fuck one?"

"It's not...that word." she moaned when he pressed against her nub. "We were making love, not that dirty word."

"Pretty it up however you like, Your Grace." he took the little bundle between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it lightly. Sansa moaned loudly. "Just come for me again."

After she did, he got out of the bed and brought her back a wet cloth to clean herself up with.

"There's no blood." she said, looking at the still white sheets beneath her. She looked up at him in abashed horror, looking almost guilty.

"Calm yourself." he chuckled, taking the cloth from her to clean his own self up. "I felt your veil with my fingers and took it with them instead of my cock. I know you were a maiden. Not that I give a buggering hell about that." he tossed the cloth onto the floor next to the bed and lay back down, watching as Sansa rose from the bed, awkwardly trying to cover her nakedness.

"What are you doing?" he asked her with his brow raised.

"Going to put on my nightdress."

"Bugger that." he slid across the bed and snagged her wrist, pulling her back onto the mattress with him. "I've dreamt about your naked body pressed up against mine for too long. Now that I have that right, you'll never have use of a night dress again."

"This is very improper." she tried to reason, although she didn't pull away as he covered them both. On the contrary, she snuggled even closer to him.

"Improper I may be, but I'll find more joy in your body than most lords or knights ever would." She laughed lightly at that, running her cheek along his chest before settling into him. He let his eyes fall closed, feeling satisfied and repleat and oddly peaceful for the first time in his life. He was almost asleep when she spoke.

"I love you, Sandor." she whispered and his eyes flashed open, staring up at the ceiling above him in shock, the panic he'd pushed down earlier rising in his chest again. She was probably just saying it because she felt it was the right thing to say. The proper thing. Wives should love their husbands, so she told him she loved him. That was it. He wouldn't lie to her, but he also refused to induldge in a murmers show of telling her he loved her when she was only telling him that because it was what was expected and proper. Bugger that. So he just held her tighter to his side and kissed the top of her head. What did a man like him know of love anyway? He'd never loved, never been loved. But the hells of it was, he was fairly certain if he could love anyone, it would be her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life and sick kids have made this one difficult to get around to posting. Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy :)

Winterfell was coming along wonderfully. Sansa's days were long and often tedious. Things in the North had gotten very bad during the Bolton's rule. She spent hours upon hours in court, seeing to things. Her people seemed happier. Crops were coming along well despite the fridge temperatures thanks to the glass gardens and the war ravaged villages were being repaired. She and her widowed good sister were starting to get along well, although it was difficult because Jeyne was such a shy woman. She spoke of her desire to return to the Crag, to her parents and her siblings. It was a difficult decision to make for Sansa, but Jeyne had not yet given birth, and if her child were a boy then he needed to be at Winterfell to learn the lands and the castle for when he was old enough to take his rightful post as Lord and King. She told Jeyne they would speak of it again once the child was born.

It was difficult most days. She was so happy to be home, but being there brought memories of her childhood. Of her mother and father. Of Robb and Arya and Bran and Rickon. The halls were oddly silent without the clamoring of Arya and the squeals of little Rickon. It was hard to look up, because when she did she half expected to see Bran skipping from one roof to the next. And when she sat in the great hall, which was now being used as the throne room, all she could picture was how better Robb would have filled that seat. Jon had sent word back that he hadn't seen either of the boys, but he would send out a search party for them. As Lord Commander of the Nights Watch he'd reached a historical treaty with the people beyond the Wall and swore that he would have his men on that side watching for them as well. Sansa had already dispatched several parties of her own, following leads to Skagos and Maidenpool. When she started forming another party to search for traces of Arya, although she was the only one who held out hope her sister was alive, Brienne had quickly volunteered to lead.

"Brienne, you don't have to." Sansa told the other woman, whom had become a close friend over their time together. "I know you feel obligated, but consider your oaths to my mother fulfilled. You needn't run about the country searching for her. Not when you have something here." Sansa wasn't certain what it was between the Tarth woman and Ser Jaime. They niether one spoke of it, but didn't try very hard to hide it as well. Brienne more often than not roomed with Jaime and he often times made teasing remarks to her or touched her in a way that made both Brienne and Sansa blush. Some of the whispers referred to Brienne as the Kingslayers Whore. A title that had cost a few men a flogging at Sansa's behest. Brienne looked off to the side, where the men were gathered in the training yard watching a new green boy sparring with Sandor. Jaime stood off to the side, shouting out commands and guidelines to the boy who practically cowered every time Sandor lifted his sword.

"Ser Jaime and I..." she trailed off, looking back at Sansa. "He has become a changed man since we came to you, but there is a past that I'm not sure he'll ever be able to overcome. A woman I'm not sure he will ever forget. I'm nothing more than a convenyance to him. Besides, he knows of my desire and has encouraged me to take on the journey. You may consider my oaths fulfilled, but I do not." Sansa wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she was wrong. Ser Jaime must care for her. Sansa had seen the way he looked at her. And he was the Lion of Lannister who turned his back on his family and his fortune to follow Brienne. Even now Jaime kept casting glances at them, a look of frustrated annoyance on his pretty face.

"I'll not stop you, then, if it's what you truely want."

"It is, Your Grace." Brienne smiled. "I want to be the one who brings Arya home, or finds word of what became of her." Sansa returned her smile. She appreciated that Brienne was reasonable. It was a fair assumption that Arya had died. She was just a little girl, alone during the hardships of war. But Sansa knew Arya. She strong and resilient. If any little girl could survive in the world alone, it was Arya Stark. And there was still so much that Sansa needed to say to her sister. She couldn't be gone.

Sandor proved to be exactly what she expected of him as a husband. Awkward, unsure, and often times grumpy. He never spoke of his feelings for her, but he had showed her just how precious he thought she was by his handling of her. He'd taken her every night since they'd wed almost a full moons turn ago, although he never spilt himself inside of her again after their first night together. She hadn't gathered the courage to speak to him about it just yet. What he had told her on their wedding night, of how it would take a while before she enjoyed the feel of him inside of her turned out to be mostly true. Every time he entered her it was uncomfortable but the sting and burn no longer happened. He brought her to climax every night, but never when he was inside of her. The last few times, though, the same wonderful tightening had begun in her womb towards the end. She felt almost...bereft when he'd pull out and finish on the cloth he'd began keeping under her. Her body would still be screaming for...more. She wanted to ask him to touch her down there as he took her, move a little harder against her, but she could never find courage to speak those words. And she knew he wanted to take her harder. Sansa could see the restraint in the taunt lines of his face and muscles. She wasn't sure why he refrained since it was obviously what he wanted. Again, though, she wasn't brave enough to ask.

That evening Sandor wasn't able to join her for supper. He was busy with the new influx of young men wanting to join her. She ate with both Jeyne Poole and Jeyne Stark, listening to their opinions on the new tapestries being hung in the hall, or the list of names that her good sister was thinking on for the baby, both if it were a boy or a girl. After supper she went to her chambers and enjoyed a soak in the still steaming water her maids had left for her in the tub. Sandor still hadn't returned by the time she left the tub and dressed in her mostly neglected nightdress. She had the maids empty some of the water and leave a pot over the fire in case Sandor wanted to bathe when he did retire for the night. She sat up in bed, the furs covering her legs while she worked on her embordiery by the light of the candles on the night stand while she waited for her husband to return. When he did he was still in his mail and boiled leather. With him came the smell of earth and sweat.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked, removing his clothing with jerky movements.

"Waiting on you." she slid out of the bed and went to the tub, dipping her fingers into the now cool water. "There's water over the fire for your bath." A grunt was the only reply she recieved. He was in a foul mood. She watched as he went to the fire and wincingly removed the pot with a towel around the handle. Once he'd poured it into the tub he removed his small clothes and stepped into it. Although she'd seen him naked before, she usually looked away quickly. The sight of him naked was almost too much for her to bare.

"Did you eat something?" she asked, moving to stand next to the tub, picking up the cloth on the stool and dipping it into the water before lathering his perferred soap bar into it.

"I did." he nearly snapped. Sansa lifted a brow but didn't remark, just moved behind his head and started to wash his shoulder. He jerked forward and snatched the rag from her hand.

"Sandor..."

"I'm not a bloody child." he did snap this time, not turning to look at her as he began to wash himself roughly. Sansa felt confused and a little angry. What had she done to deserve his anger this way?

"Is there something the matter, my love?" he scoffed at that, his head shaking.

"Stop calling me that." he said under his breath before shifting forward in the tub to lean his head back and wet his hair. Sansa almost leaned forward to help him, but pulled her hands back. She waited until he sat back up to speak.

"What's wrong?" she tried again softly.

"I don't need your fucking honeyed words." he scrubbed his hair angrily. "And I don't need your fucking coddling either. Leave me be, woman." Sansa jerked back at his words, the sting of them quickly morphing into full blown anger. How dare he? He wanted her to leave him be? Well, she could do that. Spinning on her bare heal, she strode swiftly to her side of the bed and blew the candles on her night stand out. Let him take care of the rest. Jerking the furs back, she climbed onto the bed and rolled away from his side. Her anger wasn't going to allow for sleep, but that didn't mean she was going to induldge his seemingly pointless anger. She heard him moving about the room, the sounds of him drying and then the candles about the room started being blown out. The mattress dipped as he climbed onto it, but he didn't reach for her like he normally did. Sansa refused to be hurt by that, and ignored the urge she felt to turn to him and try and comfort him again.

She eventually fell asleep and didn't wake up until early the next morning, the closed window panes just barely brightened by the still not fully risen sun. She still lay on her side facing away from Sandor and couldn't feel his body next to hers. For a second she feared he'd left her. Rolling over, she found him laying on his back, his bare chest rising and falling steadily with sleep. Last night had confused her, but now that she wasn't distracted by her own anger or his harsh words, she could figure that his anger wasn't towards her, but neither had her words helped quell his rage. He had so often comforted her when she needed it, when she would never open that side of herself to anyone else, but he still wouldn't let her comfort him. Knowing that he wasn't used to having the ability to allow someone to comfort him, to love him, helped to ease the pain that blow brought with it. But she wouldn't allow him to hide from her, or push her away.

Scooting across the space between them, she pressed her front along his side and lifted a hand to graze her fingers through his chest hair. He stirred at the touch, then his eyes flashed open and his hand was suddenly grasping her wrist hard enough to leave bruises. She gasped at the pain it brought, his head turned towards her, grey eyes focusing on her own. His grip eased.

"I didn't mean to startle you." she said softly, resuming her petting of his chest. He let her for a moment, then pushed her hand away and looked up at he ceiling. Sansa bit back her frustration. Why was he being so stubborn?

"Sandor, please talk to me." she urged him. "I dont know what I've done to displease you, but I would gladly make it up to you if I only knew what it was."

"You didn't fucking displease me." he rasped, his hand dragging across his face.

"But you didn't...take your husbandly rights last night." it was the first time since they'd married that he hadn't.

"Don't fucking pretend to have missed it." he glared at her. "All you ever do is lay there and take it like it's your fucking duty. I'm well aware of what I am, girl, and what I'm not. And this murmers farce you keep putting on is grating my nerves. It wasn't my handsome face or your uncontrolled want of me that had you marrying me. You didn't want to marry some Lord you didn't know and didn't trust, worried you'd get a husband as pretty and cruel as your former betrothed. I understand that, so stop playing these fucking games with me." Sansa lay there gaping at him for a long moment, stunned at his words and at the anger swiring in his grey eyes. Sitting up so she could look down at him, she narrowed her eyes.

"How dare you." she whispered low. "After all this time, after everything we've been through, you still don't trust me when I have given you all of my trust. Don't you put words in my mouth. What you think you understand is the lie, Sandor, not what I've told you. Yes, I didn't want to marry some Lord, and it was fear of him turning out to be like Joffrey that was part of it, but don't missunderstand my main purpose." she leaned forward and grasped his face in her hands. "I love you, Sandor Clegane. I think I have since you held me all day on that horse while I cried my eyes out. Don't you dare sully that by telling me you don't believe me. I'm not asking for you to confess your undying love for me. I know life is not a song. But, please, at least honor me enough in accepting my feelings for you." She bent to him, taking his mouth in a gentle kiss before he could speak. She hurt for him, for his past that he struggled to overcome, for the pain it still caused him.

"Let me love you, Sandor." she whispered against his mouth. He didn't speak, but he wasn't pushing her away any longer either. As she kissed him, another thing he said came to mind. That she only took him because it was her duty. That wasn't true. She enjoyed their intimacies together, but he was right. She only ever lay on her back and allowed him to do as he pleased. Doing more had always seemed awkward and embarassing. Having him hurt because of her preceived coldness was worse. So she kissed him like he kissed her, angling her head to the side and tracing his lips with her tongue until he opened, a low noise coming from the back of his throat, the sound rumbling against his chest pressed to hers. Hesitantly and a little unsurely, she explored his mouth, giving his bottom lip a nip like he'd done to her in the past. It had always sent a shock of sensation through her body. His arms came around her then, clutching her tightly to his chest as he tried to take over the kiss. She pulled her head back from him, breathing a little raggedly.

"No, no." she grinned at him, pushing against his chest until he let her go. She went to her knees next to him, pushing him gently back down when he tried to follow her. He clenched his jaw tightly, watching her as she moved. "If you refuse to believe my words, then I'll just have to convince you in a different way." With that, she pulled her night dress off, tossing it over the side of the bed. She hoped he didn't notice the way her hands shook or how her blush had spread down her chest and up to the tips of her ears.

"Sansa," he went to touch her, but Sansa grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand up to her mouth to kiss his knuckles.

"I don't know what happened yesterday to make you question me, Sandor." she pressed his hand to her cheek and leaned into it. "But this is no farce. I do love you, and I do desire you." she pulled his hand down her throat and chest until he covered her breast. Sansa sucked in a breath and arched into his hand. "I'm sorry if I've seemed cold to you when we are in bed together." she reached over his body and brought his other hand to her other breast. "It is not intentional. I have just always been unsure of what to do to please you." He started to speak again, so she leaned forward and kissed him into silence, moaning softly into his mouth when his hands contracted on her breasts. She trailed kisses up his ruined cheek, nuzzling her nose against where his jawline merged with his throat, then started down to his collarbone. She gently raked her teeth across the skin there, causing him to shiver under her. She felt a surge of pride at that. Sitting up on her knees again, she dragged her finger tips across his chest to his nipples. She circled each, watching his face. She had always enjoyed his touch on her there, so maybe he would as well. He let a shaky breath out and his eyes closed, his fingers centering over her own nipples and tugging gently. Sansa tried to ignore the want and desire surging through her at his touch. Leaning forward, she kissed him there, then swiped her tongue over him.

"Fuck." he cursed under his breath, releasing one of her breasts to cup the back of her head. She took that as a good sign and did it again before dropping kisses across his chest to the other one and doing the same. His hand on her breast slid down her stomach and cupped her roughly through her small clothes.

"No." she gasped, sitting up straight again, grabbing his wrist between her legs.

"What?" his voice was deep, rasping, his eyes molten silver.

"You're distracting me." she tugged on his arm and he let her remove his hand. "I want to please you now."

"I'd prefer it be mutal pleasure."

"Let me go first." she put both hands on his abdomen. "But, um, you're going to have to tell me what to do."

"Sansa, look at me." he rasped and Sansa looked down at him. "You don't have to do anything. Being with you is it's own pleasure." Sansa felt her eyes sting. He so rarely spoke his feelings to her, of her, that it was always a sweet surprise when he did.

"I want to." she said emphatically. "Please, tell me how." His face went hard for a moment, like he was steeling himself, then he kicked the furs away from his body, revealing his nudity.

"Touch me." he growled. "Anywhere, however you want. Just put your hands on me. Your mouth, your tongue. Hells, girl, even your teeth." She figured what he wanted her to touch most was his...member. She refused to call it that dirty word he always used. Even now she could see it out of the corner of her eyes, half hard and growing. Ignoring it for now, she went back to kissing and touching his chest and abdomen, not leaving a single inch of his skin untouched or unloved. When she reached a scar she would kiss it, hoping to erase some of his past pains. The muscles of his lower stomach created dips at each of his hips, she trailed her tongue across each, smoothing her hands down his hairy thighs.

"For fucks sake, Sansa." Sandor groaned. "Stop taunting and touch my cock." Feeling an odd sense of power at bringing him to this state, squirming and panting, she shifted her body between his spread thighs, sitting back on her heels and rubbing his thighs with open palms. His erection rose between them, the weight of it almost making it rest along his lower stomach.

"Ask me nicely." she grinned at him wickedly. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her, but she thought she seen amusement flashing in those intense depths.

"Please, Your Grace," he mockingly started. "touch my cock." Shaking her head with a wry grin, she figured that was the best she would get out of him. Looking back down at his erection, she gulped, suddenly nervous again.

"Like this." he grasped one of her wrists and pressed her hand against his base, curling his fingers around hers and making her encircle him. Her middle finger and thumb didn't quite touch. Then he pulled her hand up his length, groaning loudly when they reached the tip. "Keep doing that." he rasped, dropping his hand from hers, leaving her to her own devices. He felt oddly delicate in her hand although he was as hard as steel, heat pouring off of him. Using gentle pressure she continued doing what he'd shown her, the skin around the head of him pulling away on every downward stroke, revealing a glistening of moisture.

"Harder." he gasped, lifting his hips into her fist. She hesitated, not wanting to hurt him. "Don't be so bloody careful." he groaned again, clasping a hand over hers and making her hold him tighter. " _Yes_." the word hissed out between his clenched teeth. Sansa kept up the pressure he'd requested, absently rubbing her free hand up and down the bunched muscles of his thigh.

"Alright." he suddenly said after a few moments, roughly pushing her hand away from him. "Enough."

"What?" she was confused. She was actually enjoying what she was doing. Watching him squirm and grunt with pleasure, how he grew bigger and hotter in her hand, how all the muscles of his body would clench and release as he moved with her. She enjoyed it so much that she was beginning to squirm and ache herself, pressing her thighs together hard against the throb between them.

"I want you to ride me." he sounded almost angry as he sat up and quickly undid the laces of her small clothes. He jerked them down her knees then let out a frustrated growl when he couldn't get them farther. "Take them off." Sansa did as he asked, then squeeked when he grasped her hips and pulled her up his body as he dropped back to the bed. She awkwardly put a knee on either side of his hips, the hardness of him she'd been rubbing pressed up against her center.

"Sit up." he pushed against her shoulders and Sansa did as he asked again. "Lift." he grunted, shoving a hand between her thighs. Sansa gasped loudly but went up on her knees to give him room. He worked her swollen and throbbing button, which he had told her once was called a clit. Sansa groaned loudly, working her hips in time with his fingers, his longest working up inside of her. She grasped his thighs behind her tightly, arching her back.

"Higher." he pushed upwards against her and she was forced to rise even higher on her knees. His finger left her and she whimpered at the loss, but it was quickly replaced with the head of his...erection. "Now slide down." Sansa bit her lip but leaned forward to brace her hands on his chest as she slid slowly down his length. He grasped her hips tightly in both hands helping her down until she was flushed against him. She opened her mouth, struggling to get a breath in. He felt deeper this way, like he was pressing against the deepest part of her. She wanted to collapse against his chest, but he slid his hands up her sides to her shoulders like he knew that was what she wanted but he wouldn't allow her.

"Move." He flexed his hips, pressing himself further in and Sansa's body tightened around him, causing his eyes to roll back as a gust of breath whooshed out of him. "Damnit, girl. Move. Please."

"I don't know what to do." she admitted, unable to stop the instinct to rock her hips back and forth, rubbing her sensitive bundle of nerves against the course hair of his groin.

"Up and down." he took her hips again, lifting her slightly, then pulling her back down.

"Oh, Gods." she whimpered at the feeling, her nails digging into the muscles of his chest.

"Just like with your hand." He let go of her hips, smoothing his hands down the length of her legs to grab hold of her ankles near his thighs to keep himself from touching her further. She had wanted this, to pleasure him, and he was giving her that chance. Licking her lips and straightening her spine, she started to move as he had shown her. It was odd and she felt entirely too self consious with him staring up at her, but it also felt good. Very good. And it felt even better when she rocked her hips against him every time their groins touched, so she kept doing that. Soon she was moving faster, forgetting that she was embarrassed to be on display for him, that familiar tension building inside of her. The need to feel it break and send her flying overshadowed any lingering awkwardness.

"Shit." he gasped, his fingers squeezing her ankles tighter. "Sansa, slow down. I'm going to..." her climax washed over her then, her cry drowning out whatever he was going to say. Time seemed to freeze as her body tightened and held in tight position. She felt as if she were falling, then the mattress was beneath her. Her orgasm was still pulsing through her and she was vaguely aware it wasn't subsiding because Sandor was now over her, pumping himself inside of her with no restraint whatsoever, his skin slapping loudly against hers with the force of each thrust. She might have been sobbing when she wrapped her arms and legs around him to keep from being thrown away from him. Everything was so intense and powerful that she buried her face in his shoulder and without thinking bit down on his skin as she continued to cry out at the sensations. Above her he let out a broken, rough cry, followed by a grumbled curse that was most assuredly 'fuck', then he slammed against her hard and deep, the heat of his release spreading inside of her as the muscles of his back that she gripped shook and trembled. He collapsed heavily on top her of her, but she didn't mind. Her body felt liquid and pliable as her limbs slipped from around him and fell to the matress. He was panting and shaking a little, his face tucked into her hair. When she gathered her strength, she lifted her hands and ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.

"I love you, Sandor." she told him again. He pushed up onto his elbows so he could look down at her.

"Aye." he nodded. "I believe you. Although you're more than welcome to prove it to me like this every night." She flushed and managed a light slap to his shoulder. He chuckled, then grew serious. "You came, didn't you?" he rocked his hips against her gently, his now soft manhood still somewhat inside of her. She sucked in a breath as a bolt of aftershock went through her.

"I did."

"Because I'd gladly make it up to you if you didn't." he rolled off of her slightly, his hand sliding down between her thighs, fingers swirling inside the wetness they had created together.

"No." she grabbed his wrist. "I want you to tell me what was wrong last night."

"You're certain it's talking you want to do?" he mumbled, leaning forward to suck her nipple into his mouth as two fingers slipped inside of her. "Hearing you sing seems far more enjoyable."

"Enjoyable, yes." she shifted up and away from his too delicious fingers and mouth. "But I need you to talk to me first." Sandor groaned theatrically, dropping back onto his back, arms folded behind his head, completely unashamed of his nakedness. Well, if he could be so easy being naked, then she could too. She forced herself not to reach for the furs as she settled back against the pillows.

"What happened?" he closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment. She thought maybe he wasn't going to answer her and her heart dropped.

"Some of the men were talking." he started, still not opening his eyes. "Of why you would marry the Hound instead of a proper Lord. Most of their talk was innocent enough. Superstitions of me being your wolf reincarnate and stupid shit like that. One suggested that I'd ruined you while we were on the road together so you were obligated to marry me. Another said he felt sorry for you, having to endure the nights at my mercy. Ser Renard suggested that you kept your eyes averted or buried in the pillow, taking what was your duty as a wife and as Queen in the North to supply Winterfell with heirs." Sansa rolled up onto her elbow so she could look at his face.

"Sandor, that's nonsense."

"It's what makes the most sense." he stubbornly argued.

"Can't you see?" she grasped his face and leaned in closer to him. "Can't you look into my eyes and see how much you mean to me? Your scars don't bother me. Your harsh manner and your brash talk doesn't matter to me. Sandor, you are the only person who knows me. Really knows me. You see me at my worst and at my weakest and yet you still stand by me. Can't you trust me enough to show me a little bit of your weakness? Can't you trust me enough to care for you as you care for me?" Sandor worked his jaw, swallowing hard a few times.

"You have only to look in a looking glass to see my weakness, little bird." he rasped, pulling her hands from him face and holding them in both of his at his chest. "You are my weakness. I care for you, Sansa, far more than I've ever cared for anyone or anything in my life. But I don't know if I can love you. I don't think...a man like me isn't capable of that." Sansa sniffed tears back, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

"I think you're wrong, Sandor. But I wont force you to say something you don't want to, or that you don't mean. Just know that I love you. Nothing anyone says will change that. My heart is yours, dear husband." He blinked rapidly for a second, and Sansa thought for a moment he may cry.

"I promise to take care of it." his voice was more raspy than normal. "I'll keep it safe and I'll sacrifice my life before I'd hurt it." Sansa smiled through her tears as she fell on him, kissing him with all she had. He might not be able to say it just yet, but she knew the depth of Sandor's emotion for her. And she was a patient woman. She would show him how to love, how to be loved, and he could take all the time he needed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I aged Sansa up, I'm aging up others as well. Enjoy :)

Sandor went to work later that morning with what should have been a boost to his step. Instead he felt like he'd failed at something. He felt satiated, his body still humming from the pleasures his little bird had bestowed upon him. Hells, if he closed his eyes he could still vividly picture her stunningly perfect and wondrously naked body above him, head thrown back in abandon.

"Shit." he cursed under his breath as his breeches started to feel a little too snug. He needed to put those thoughts out of his mind or Jaime Lannister wouldn't let him live it down, walking in to the training yard with a hard on.

 "You blushing, Clegane?" Jaime asked him as he stepped into the armory to don his armor. Only the men under him referred to him as Lord Stark, and only because they feared his wrath if they didn't address him correctly. Little did they know he preferred not to be called that. Sansa never did. Jaime never did. The Tarth wench never did, although she was leaving this morning in search of Arya. To all that actually knew him, he was still a Clegane and that suited him just fine.

"The wind is cold." Sandor side stepped the Lion's question.

"That it is." Jaime nodded his thanks to the young boy who had been helping him put on his armor. Sandor glared at another young boy who waited to help him. He wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead let the boy get up on a stool to start strapping him in. "What is it you Starks say?" Jaime flashed a grin at him. "Winter is coming."

"And your Tarth wench is leaving." Sandor shot back at him, and felt mildly guilty when Jaime flinched. He recovered quickly, however.

"Yes, off to find your good sister or to figure out where and how she died."

"What woman is there in Winterfell that will be able to fill that big bitches place in your bed?" Jaime narrowed his green eyes at him, his jaw ticking. Sandor didn't know exactly why he couldn't stop baiting Jaime into anger, but to be fair, Jaime baited him just as much.

"There wont be." Lannister finally answered with a deep sigh. That caught Sandor off guard. He was expecting some sarcastic and witty retort.

"See her off, Lion." Sandor reluctantly told him. "I'll take over your morning duties."

"How chivalrous of you, Hound." Jaime japed, but Sandor could see the gratitude in the other mans eyes. "Seems the Stark girl is rubbing off on you." Sandor was actually glad for the double duties of the morning. It allowed him to blank his mind and focus on what he was supposed to be doing. He was so busy that he missed the second meal of the day and was just taking a break at early evening when the news came to him. He was sitting on the benches on the side of the training yard with the other men passing around a wineskin when the new stewards young boy came running. He stopped in front of Sandor panting hard for breath and cheeks red with his exertion.

"What is it, boy?" Sandor snapped when the boy did nothing but suck in air.

"Pardon, mi'lord." he wiped his brow and took a deep breath. "It's the Queen, Ser." Sandor stood quickly, dropping the forgotten wineskin he'd been holding.

"What of the Queen?" Sandor pressed, ignoring the Ser.

"No, she's fine, mi'lord." the boy hastily assured him. "It's just she sent me to get you. A raven came not long ago. She sent for you after reading it."

"Go on, Clegane." Jaime stood up then. "I'll finish up here." Sandor nodded his thanks to the other man and followed the boy into the castle.

"She's in your chambers, mi'lord." the boy told him and Sandor quickly out paced him up the stairs. He found Sansa standing near the fire, a paper in her hand that she looked to be reading still.

"What is it?" he asked once he'd barred the door. Sansa turned to him and he braced himself for bad news. Her brilliant smile and tears streaming down her face were a little confusing.

"Ser Darrik has sent word from outside Skagos." she passed him the parchment with shaking hands, but he didn't read it. "They've found Rickon, Sandor." she let out what sounded to be a laugh and a sob altogether. "He's with a woman named Osha who was with the boys when Winterfell was sacked. He's alive, Sandor! Little Rickon. My baby brother is alive." Sandor sat the paper down on the table and wrapped Sansa in his arms. He smiled against the crown of her head. He couldn't even picture Rickon in his head any longer. He'd just been a toddler when Sandor had seen him last. But if he brought with him a sense of happiness for his little bird, he'd welcome the boy with open arms.

When Rickon did arrive, it wasn't quite what he or Sansa had been expecting. Rickon wasn't a proper little lord. He was still young, Sansa said he must have been ten now, wiry and slimly muscular for such a young boy. He had wild curly hair that nearly reached the middle of his back and his eyes, although the same color of Sansa's, were almost animalistic. He didn't embrace Sansa like she'd been hoping for. He watched her warily, hiding behind his beast of a wolf that he called Shaggy, an animal with supernaturally alert eyes that measured everyone he seen. Osha, the wildling woman that had taken care of Rickon, was kind enough. She explained to Sansa how they'd escaped from the tombs, and how maester Luwin had suggested they separate. She had no idea where Bran could be now, only that he was with Hodor and the Reed children and they had headed further North in search of a raven of some sort. Sansa has sent word to Jon as soon as she could, letting him know the new turn of events.

It had been a week of Rickon being back before he would even enter the castle, preferring instead to sleep outside. Sansa had let him, not wanting to push the boy too fast. Osha had stayed with him. After a week he finally agreed to come in for meals. Sandor had suggested moving their meals to a smaller room with only the two of them other than Osha. Rickon ate like someone might reach over at any moment and steal his food. Sandor had seen men eat like that before. Starved men, or men that had spent time in jail where food was scarce and men were cruel. He never spoke, but Sansa didn't seem to notice. She told him endless stories of his childhood, of their parents and siblings and events that she thought might help him remember. It would be another week before Rickon added anything to the stories.

"You look like her." he broke in when Sansa had been telling a story of their mother. Sansa stopped talking immediately and sat her fork down, casting a look to Osha before focusing on her brother.

"Do I?"

"Her hair was darker than yours, I think." he said around a mouthful of roast. Sandor glanced at Sansa. She'd scolded him on more times than he could count for speaking with his mouth full. She said nothing of it to Rickon.

"Yes." Sansa agreed. "About the color of yours, I think." Rickon grabbed a fistful of his hair and studied it.

"I guess you're right." he dropped his hair and looked over at Sansa. "I miss her." Sandor watched as Sansa struggled to control her emotions. She swallowed hard, licked her lips.

"I miss her, too." she finally said. "Very much." Unthinking, Sandor covered Sansa's hand with his own. Rickon's eyes flicked to the motion, then up to Sandor. The boy neither flinched or reacted to his scars.

"I remember you, too." Rickon said. "You came with the King before father left. Before Bran fell. You wore a helmet that looked like a dogs head and watched when that stupid prince and I sparred in the training yard. You were always following the other stupid prince, the one Robb beat."

"Joffrey was his name." Sandor said calmly, squeezing Sansa's hand gently when she would have spoke. "And I was his shield at the time. And he wasn't just stupid, boy, he was a sadistic little cunt." Sansa gasped at his language but Rickon smiled for the first time since he'd been back. It softened the wild look of him, making him look like the young boy he was.

"Why are you here now and not dead with all of them?" he asked the question casually.

"Because I stole your sister away from Kings Landing and brought her home instead." Sandor answered just as casually.

"Why?" Rickon pressed and Sandor felt his mouth twitch. That was a hard question to answer. Why had he?

"Rickon," Sansa started when Sandor didn't speak for a long moment.

"No." Sandor cut her off. "It's alright." he looked back at the boy who hadn't looked away from him yet.

"That sadistic little cunt of a prince became King while your sister was there and he did horrible things to her. Things I just stood and watched and never did a buggering thing about until I just couldn't stand and watch any longer. So I took her in the middle of the night. I had a lot to atone for when it came to her, so I fought in her armies and I helped her win her home, your home, back. That's why, wolf boy." Again Rickon smiled at the moniker.

"So she married you in thanks?"

"I married him because I love him." Sansa said quickly. "Sandor is also master-at-arms here. If you'd like you could start training with him." Rickon held Sandor's gaze for a moment longer before looking back to his sister.

"Osha taught me to fight."

"Like a wildling, I'm sure." Sandor scoffed and Osha bristled.

"Pardons, Your Grace, but it was my skills as a wildling fighter that kept the boy alive."

"I'm not your bloody grace." Sandor told the woman. "And I'm well aware of what kept the boy alive and my lady wife is grateful of your services, as she has so kindly showed you. But tell me, wildling woman, how often was it the boys wolf that saved your life out there instead of your battle skills?" Osha scowled and mumbled something under her breath as she went back to eating. Rickon out and out laughed. Osha glared at him.

"Oh, come on Osha." the boy chuckled. "He's right. We would both have been long dead if it hadn't been for Shaggy."

"Well I for one am thankful for both Osha and Shaggy." Sansa broke the awkward tension. "And I'm beyond happy that you are back home, Rickon." Rickon's smile slipped a bit and his brow furrowed as he focused on his food again, concentrating hard on something.

"I think I am, too." he finally said.

The next morning Rickon started training with Sandor and the other men. Shaggy sat along the fence lines watching with his too alert eyes. Most of the men were scared to spar with the boy, fearful of the wolf that was obviously protective of his master. So the sparring was left to Sandor. There had been several times that he'd taken Rickon to the dirt and the boy had to call the wolf off before he tore into Sandor's throat. A full moon later and the boy wasn't getting knocked in the dirt as often and the wolf was getting used to seeing Sandor fight him, more trusting that Sandor wouldn't actually hurt the boy so he mostly just sat and watched. Rickon was also starting to get comfortable with Sandor, which made them both a little uncomfortable. But Sansa encouraged Sandor to help her brother since he was taking such a long time to bond with her again. He needed a mans influence, she'd told him. He was to be Lord of Winterfell, and take his place as King in the North in just three years, when he would be considered of age if Bran wasn't relocated and Jeyne's baby was a girl. Rickon had told Sandor he didn't want to be king. Sandor told the boy he wouldn't want to be either, but life wasn't fair all the time and with the Stark name came duty, a duty that his father and uncles and grandfathers had shouldered over the centuries, a duty his sister bore well herself, and he wouldn't shrink from it. Sandor was sure of that.

"But if I'm king then that means I'll have to marry." Rickon complained one evening after training. "I don't want to marry." Sandor fought a grin as he handed the boy a waterskin.

"I never wanted to either."

"Why did you?" Rickon took a drink of the water, then poured some in a cupped hand for his wolf. Sandor measured his words before speaking.

"I met your sister." Rickon gave him a funny look at that answer, but didn't press him. Sandor was glad for it. He went to his chambers that night to find Sansa in bed already, sleeping soundly. He thought for a moment to wake her, but as he looked at her peaceful expression, he decided against it. She so rarely got a good nights sleep. Instead, he stripped out of his clothing and crawled in behind her, pulling her back against his chest. He awoke in the early morning to the sounds of Sansa vomiting. He sat up in the bed to see her over the chamber pot, her hair gathered in one hand at the base of her neck. Crawling out of the bed, he pulled on his breeches but left them unlaced before going to the wash basin and wetting a cloth. That had always helped back when he was wine sick so often.

"Here." he crouched down next to her and handed her the cool cloth.

"Oh, Gods, Sandor." she turned her face from him, but took the cloth and held it to her face. "You should leave. Send in Mira or Ona, please."

"Why?" He put his hand on the clammy skin of the nape of her neck.

"You shouldn't see me like this." she pulled the chamber pot away from him and Sandor scoffed. "Oh, bloody hells woman." he stood up and pulled her to standing.

"When are you going to realize that, along with blood, vomit doesn't bother me."

"But I look a mess." she complained. Sandor fought a grin. She did look like the seven hells. Her skin was pale and blotchy from vomiting, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair damp and wild. Still, somehow, she managed to look beautiful.

"Come on, girl." he ignored her comment and lifted her into his arms easily. "Back to bed with you." she moaned a little protest, but curled into his chest. He lay her back on the bed and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever." he told her. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." she sighed. "My head hurts a little." she leaned her head into his hand when he moved to cup her cheek.

"You're staying in bed today." he knelt and kissed her sweaty forehead. "I'll send up maester Tannard and Ona with some toast and honey."

"I have to be in court..."

"Court can wait." he pushed her back onto the mattress, though she didn't put up much of a fight. "You're Queen, Sansa. It wont go on without you. I'll take care of it all." Once he was assured she would stay in bed, he dressed and sent Ona for her breakfast before going to find the new maester, a middle aged man named Tannard that had been good friends with maester Luwin. He promised Sandor he was heading straight to Sansa. After that, Sandor went to the armory and found Ser Jaime, letting the man know he would be on his own today as Sandor had to attend to some of Sansa's other matters. He hated it. Every single second of it. He wasn't used to giving people orders or having people bow to him. Rickon forewent training and stayed with Sandor all day, which actually turned out to be good. He kept sending the boy on errands and occasionally up to maester Tannard to get an update on Sansa, whom he feared might be with child and it was the morning illness that he'd heard of that was causing her to be sick. It was just after midday meal when Rickon came back from going to see the maester with the maester himself. Sandor's heart skipped a beat when he seen him.

"How is she?" Sandor immediatly asked.

"Not well, my Lord." Tannard cautiously told him. "She has a fever now, and a high one at that. She's in and out of conciousness, but she's asking for you."

"A fever?" Sandor barked, pushing up from the table to loom over the maester. Tannard flinched and took a step away. "She didn't have a fever when I left her this morning."

"No, my Lord. It came up suddenly and progressed quickly." Sandor was already moving towards the stairs that led to his chambers as the maester spoke.

"Take care of her, Sandor." Rickon called out. "I'll see to things down here." Sandor didn't give a fuck about the things down there. He nearly ran up to his room, bursting through the door and causing Ona, Sansa's maid, to jump and drop the thankfully empty chamber pot she was carrying next to her bed. Sandor's gut clenched painfully when he seen Sansa. She was laying on the bed, the blankets pulled up under her arms. She was asleep, or unconcious, her skin ghostly white and ashen, her cheeks blazing with the fever running through her. She looked so small. So tiny. So...fragile. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed her hand that rested on her stomach. It was hot in his.

"Sansa?" he brushed his fingers across her cheek. It nearly burnt the backs of his fingers. She didn't stir. He glanced up as the maester finally reached the chamber.

"What's wrong with her?" Sandor demanded. "What happened?"

"I don't know, my Lord." Tannard offered after a long silence from the other side of the bed.

"What can you do to help her?"

"I've given her a tonic to bring the fever down and I gave her milk of the poppy just before you came. She was very agitated and distressed." Sandor looked back down at his little bird, his stomach roiling painfully.

"She'll be alright, won't she?" he asked the question low, unsure if he wanted the answer or not.

"I..." Tannard flinched when Sandor looked up at him. "I'm not sure. We will do everything we can, but it's up to her if she is strong enough to fight through the infection that is inside of her." Sandor clenched his jaw tight.

"She's strong enough." he said firmly. Ona stepped next to him, carefully reaching forward to run a cool cloth along Sansa's sweaty head. Sandor snatched the cloth from her.

"Leave us." he told the maid. "I'll take care of her."

"My Lord," Tannard stepped closer to the bed. "she may be contagious."

"I don't give a buggering shit." he snapped. "Let Rickon know what's going on. Inform Ser Jaime as well. I'm not leaving her so they'll have to take over what needs to be seen to. You will help the boy. If she may be contagious, be sure to keep Lady Stark far from here. She's due to have that baby soon."

"Yes, my Lord." Tannard bowed slightly, then left. Sandor shifted so he could lean over Sansa's body and took her face in both of his hands.

"You will get better, little bird." he said firmly, harshly. "You damn well better or I'll..." he trailed off, not knowing what he would do if she didn't. He couldn't even think of it. So instead of thinking, he worked. She came in and out of consiousness over the next sennight. Her fever came and went in waves. One moment she would be burning with the fire raging inside of her, and others she would be blue around the lips and shivering. Sandor stayed with her through it, wrapping her in the furs and his own body when she was cold, or wiping her sweaty body down with cool rags when the fever took hold. She was never lucid, even when she was awake. She cried out in pain often, moaning and shifting restlessly. He was the one that changed her dirty night gowns and held the chamber pot for her when she got sick, which was often. It was him that stripped the mattress of its sheets when she sweat through them or vomited on them. He carried her body to the tub near the fire and held her in the warm water and gently washed her hair and skin. Often times she would cry out for him, and he would always assure her he was there, whispering things in her ear until she calmed. It scared him the most when she would talk to her parents or her brother. They were dead. She couldn't be talking to them.

"She's just dreaming, my Lord." Tannard had assured him, but it still made it difficult for Sandor to breath when she would carry on one sided conversations with dead people. Rickon came often, but he hardly ever spoke. He would just sit on the bed on the opposite side of Sansa as Sandor and hold her hand. Word came from the Wall that Bran had been located. Rickon had told her the news and Sandor held his breath, hoping that it would somehow reach her and she would come back to him. It hadn't though. Jaime came a few times, relaying the details of what was going on with the men or the people but Sandor never listened. He was thankful when Jaime took over the handling of getting Bran back. When Jeyne gave birth, to a baby girl, maester Tannard told Sansa the news, but there was still no reaction. Sandor hadn't left her room once since she'd fallen sick. He took his meals in the room, although he hardly ever ate. Maester Tannard tried to talk him into leaving, to take a walk or go spar with the soldiers, but Sandor refused.

"Alright, Clegane." Jaime burst through the chamber doors. "It's been damn near a fortnight. You have to leave this room."

"Fuck off." Sandor growled to him, resituating Sansa's now painfully skinny body on the bed.

"You aren't doing her any good." Jaime told him. "Bran is set to arrive tomorrow and you still haven't met Robb Starks child."

"Why the fuck should I meet Robb Starks child?"

"While Sansa is...indisposed you have to represent her. And as Queen and as the childs aunt, she is expected to greet the babe, which means you have to do it in her stead. By your marriage, you are the baby's uncle. And in any case, you're going to go stark raving mad if you don't get out of this room and do something."

"What if she wakes up while I'm gone?" Sandor demanded.

"Then Ona will send for you immediatly." Sandor looked away from Jaime and down at Sansa, his burnt cheek twitching.

"And what if she only awakens for a moment and then she's gone?" Sandor looked up at Jaime. "What if it's the last moment she has and I'm not here for it?" Jaime let out a long breath and looked at the floor.

"You've got to stop doing this to yourself. Is this how Sansa would want you to be?" Sandor turned his back on the Lannister and sat next to Sansa, gathering her hand in both of his.

"Send for me when Bran arrives tomorrow." he finally said. "I'll head the welcoming party and I'll meet Robbs daughter then."

"Very well." Jaime sighed and Sandor heard him move to the door and open it. "And for fucks sake, Clegane, eat something before you wither away to nothing." WIth that, he shut the door. It occured to Sandor that the maester must have sent Jaime in to heckle him.

"You're brother will be home tomorrow." Sandor told Sansa, running his fingers through her hair. She was blessedly fever free and not shivering. "The new King in the North. Queen Daenerys has sent word that she would like to come for his corrination. Rickon is hopeful she'll bring her dragons." He stopped talking for a moment, something in his chest seeming to snap and with it brought a torrent of pain so acute he couldn't breath for a moment. He sucked in a sobbing breath, his eyes burning.

"Damn you, Sansa." he rasped through a tight throat. "You've got to wake up. You can't bloody leave me like this." he shifted to lay down next to her, his head on her shoulder. He felt like a child, a brief memory of his mother holding him like this flashing through his mind. But Sansa wasn't holding him back as he curved his body around her side.

"Please, little bird." he whispered the words into the cloth of her night dress. "Please. Come back to me. With Bran and Rickon back, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Essos, Dorn, Volantis. We can see the world if you want. Or we can stay here with your brothers. I don't give a shit, just so long as you wake up." his voice broke then and he gave up the semblance of control and for the first time sobor, he cried.

"I love you, Sansa." he sobbed. "Gods be damned, I love you and you have to wake up because I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do in this life without you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> try not to choke on the fluffiness :)

The darkness was suffocating. It was heavy and thick, cloaking her in it's heat and strangling the breath out of her. She fought against the invisible force, pushed back against the veil it had created. Who was she? What was it that she fought so hard for? Wouldn't it be easier just to stop struggling and give in to the seeming inevitability of the darkness?

Eventually the darkness eased into lightness and she found herself barefoot in the snowy woods. That's where she remembered who she was, and that's where she seen them again. Her mother and father were exactly as she remembered them, and Robb was as handsome as ever, his faithful wolf at his heels. She spent what felt like days with them there in the woods in the snow and cold she couldn't feel. Often times the darkness overtook her again but she always managed her way back somehow. Robb said it was her will slipping. Father explained that it was her will to live. Mother told her she had a choice, a decision to make. To stay there with them, to follow them to their heaven, or go back to the world she left behind. Sansa couldn't remember that world. Her parents felt safe and familiar. She didn't hurt here, wasn't afraid or worried. No troubles would weigh on her here. Why would she want to go?

It was after she'd returned from the darkness once again that she heard the voice. It was softer than that of her parents or brother. It seemed to come from the trees.

"What is that?" she asked out loud.

"Someone is waiting for you." Robb told her. Sansa furrowed her brow, trying to remember. There was someone, wasn't there? An ache in her chest that felt hallowed. Was it her other brothers? Arya, maybe? But, no. This felt like...the other half of her soul.

"I told you once, Sansa, that I would find someone better for you than Joffrey. I never did get that chance, but I think you may have found him on your own." Sansa looked at her father, still confused. Was that who was waiting for her? Her love? She closed her eyes, a figure forming in her minds eye, but it wasn't a knight in shinning armor or a golden prince. It was a massive shadow with the head of a dog.

"Little bird." the voice whispered through the trees and Sansa's eyes snapped open.

"Sandor?" It all came rushing back to her. The night the Blackwater burned. Him taking her away. Learning to sword fight. Hearing of her mother and Robb's death. Walder Frey. Taking Winterfell. Theon. Her wedding and wedding night. Rickon.

Sandor. Sandor Clegane.

She looked at her parents, worried at their reaction. How would they take it, knowing she married not only a second son to a minor house, but the notorious Hound? Catelyn smiled gently at her.

"We know." she said. "We've always known."

"He's not good enough." Ned said firmly, then gave her a half smile. "But I don't think there could be anyone better for you."

"He's a better man than Joffrey or either Tyrell." Robb agreed. "And he cares for you. In the end, that's all that matters."

After that, things got harder. She knew she had to get back somehow, but she didn't know how. She fought and tried, but the darkness kept overtaking her. Her parents and Robb helped how they could, but even they didn't know how to get back. She screamed herself raw, yelling for Sandor, cried until there were no tears left to cry, but still she kept fighting. The darkness was the easiest. It was simple and calm. There was no panic or pain or angst. But she kept hearing Sandor's voice. So she clung to it. Flashes were coming to her, of his hands touching her skin. His fingers running through her hair. His body curving around her own. She fell into it, railed against the darkness and snatched at every glimmer of light she could get.

"It's us, Sansa." Robb told her. "We're what's keeping you here."

"I don't understand." she cried.

"Sansa, sweetling," her father knelt next to where she was sitting and cupped her cheek. "you have to let us go if you want to go back." Fresh tears welled up and her throat seized. She looked up at her mother, her eyes full of her own tears although she was smiling.

"But I can't." she sniffed. "I can't let go. I love you all so much."

"And we love you." her mother assured her.

"But you have to let go. You can't cling so tightly to the past that you can't move forward." Ned wiped away a tear.

"But I miss you." she told him, then looked up at Robb and her mother. "I miss you so much it hurts."

"That's alright, dear." Catelyn sniffed and swallowed her own tears. "It's okay to miss us."

"We're always going to be with you, Sansa." Robb told her. "In the halls of Winterfell. In the life that goes on living there. The life of my daughter. In the lives of Bran and Rickon and Arya. In you and the lives you bring into this world yourself." Sansa sucked in a shaky breath, an odd sense of happiness blooming in her chest at the thought of her children, even though they weren't alive yet.

"It's time to say goodbye." Ned told her. "It's time for you to go back. To live." He stood up and helped her to her feet before stepping back to stand with her mother and brother.

"We love you." Catelyn said, taking Ned's hand. "Never forget that."

"She's waiting for you." Robb looked past her to the trees and Sansa turned to find a wolf sitting at the tree line, waiting. Sansa's mouth opened slightly as she started towards the massive beast who watched her intently. Sansa went to her knees in the snow, the wolf's head now above her own as it sat on it's haunches.

"Lady." Sansa breathed, sinking her fingers into the warm fur of her neck. Lady let out a whine and nuzzled her nose into Sansa's neck. Sansa gave into the urge and threw both arms around her wolfs neck and hugged her tightly, tears wetting the fur, her warmth sinking into Sansa's skin. Lady scooted closer, her fur covered chest pressed firmly to Sansa's until there was no space left between them. Sansa felt the wind pick up, swirling around them. Lady let out a soft bark that resonated inside of Sansa and then it felt as if there was nothing between them at all. They weren't two separate creatures holding each other, but one. Light flashed brightly behind closed eyes, then everything died down and went silent.

At first the darkness scared her. She thought she was past this? She had the will to live. What had gone wrong? But then the noises filtered in to her mind. A fire crackling. Soft voices talking. The comfort of a mattress under her and the warmth of covers over her. She took a deep breath through her nose, smelling burning wood and the familiar scent of the soap the laundress used. Forcing her heavy eyes open, her blurry eyes searched until she focused on the two figures at the foot of her bed. She blinked a few times before they came into view. It was maester Tannard and a young man. It took Sansa several seconds to realize who it was. He had changed quite a lot since the last time she'd seen him. He was no longer a boy. He was broader and more muscled, his face slimmer and covered in a shadow of facial hair. He looked so much like their father she nearly thought it was him. But he wore the all black clothing of his new family, of which he was commander of.

"Jon?" she tried to say his name, but all that came out was a rough, dry sound. It was enough to bring about both men's attention, but she was only looking at Jon and his familiar grey eyes. He smiled gently at her and in that moment she felt a rush of shame at how she'd treated him over the years. She licked dry, cracked lips with a dry, rough tongue, a million questions running through her mind.

"Sandor?" was what came out, but it was hardly intelligible.

"Right here." she let her head fall to the side and watched as he lifted himself from the chair pulled up next to the bed to sit beside her, never letting go of her hand as he moved. She looked up at his face. He looked drawn and tired, dark circles framing his eyes. His hair looked as if he'd been running his fingers through it, his cheeks sunken and pale, emphasizing his scars. Sansa thought it was the single most handsome face she'd ever seen in her life. She had so much she wanted to say, but couldn't form the words. Her throat was too tight and her tongue felt swollen.

"Hush." Sandor told her, rough fingers running across her forehead and down to her cheek. "Bring her some water." he instructed without looking away from her. She couldn't bring herself to look away from him either.

"Not too much at once." this from Tannard, who came up to the side of the bed and sat a glass of water on the stand. "Try just wetting her lips with a rag first." Sandor took the rag offered and dipped a corner into the glass before bringing it to her lips. She parted them slightly, let him run the wet cloth along chapped skin.

"Open." he touched her chin and rewet the rag before squeezing a few drops into her parched mouth. The water was sweet. It must have honey in it. It felt wonderful, but she did find it hard to swallow too much at once.

"See how that goes for now." Tannard took the cloth from Sandor after he'd done that several more times. "If you handle that well enough, you can have more later."

"Thank you." she croaked, only slightly more intelligible than earlier. Tannard moved around Sandor, checking her forehead, then tilting her head up to look in both of her eyes better.

"How do you feel?" he asked her once his investigation was done.

"Weak." she forced out. "Tired, but alright."

"Do you remember anything?" Sansa thought a moment about all the time she'd spent with her parents and Robb. Unwittingly she glanced at Jon, who now stood on the opposite side of the bed. She would keep those memories to herself.

"I was sick." she looked back at Tannard. "Sandor put me in bed."

"That was almost a full moons turn ago." Tannard told her. Sansa was unsurprised. The frequent darkness made it hard to tell how much time was passing, but she had felt like she was gone for a long time. She looked at Sandor, her eyes burning with tears that wouldn't come.

"I'm sorry." she whispered hoarsely. "So sorry."

"Don't." he shook his head, grabbing up both of her hands. "Don't apologize to me, damn it. You're here now, that's all that matters." he scooted closer to her head and cupped a hand around her neck as he leaned in close to her, his grey eyes blazing with emotion. "Just don't leave again. You understand me, little bird? Don't you fucking leave again."

"I won't." she blinked rapidly, but there was still no tears. Maybe she just didn't have any fluid left in her body to be able to cry. Tannard and Jon left soon after that, the maester insisting she needed her rest. Sandor curled up next to her and she shifted to her side so they could look at each other. She drifted in and out of sleep, but every time she woke up, she'd find him watching her intently and knew he was afraid she might not wake up again. But she was just so sleepy.

"Rest." he told her when she fought to stay awake. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"I will." she whispered to him, letting her eyes fall closed again. "I will wake up."

Once she was rested enough to be able to sit up and stay awake, maybe a full day later, and she'd had Ona and Mira come help her dress in her best night dress and fix her hair, Sandor called for Jon once again. He showed up with Rickon, both of their wolves bounding in before them. Sansa smiled, feeling Lady firmly inside of her perk up at the sight. Then her heart skipped a beat as the familiar and huge form of Hodor ducked inside the room, pushing a wheeled chair. In the chair sat Bran. He was slim, his long auburn hair resting on his shoulders. They eyes they recieved from their mothers side taking her in. Behind them followed his own wolf.

"Bran." This time she did cry, tears and all. Bran took over wheeling himself and moved the chair next to her bed, reaching out and taking her hand in his.

"You gave everyone here a scare, sister." he told her with a smile.

"I did?" she laughed though her tears. "You and Rickon are the ones who gave everyone a scare."

"I'm sorry for that." Bran smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. "But there were things I needed to do."

"Don't apologize for that, Bran." she told him. "You did what you needed to survive. We all did. I'm just so happy to see you."

"Bran said you wouldn't die." Rickon told her, now sitting cross legged at the foot of her bed. "He said you would wake up. He sees things that haven't happened yet, so he wasn't worried." Sansa looked from Rickon to Bran.

"Old Nan's stories weren't all stories, Sansa." Bran told her gently. "You know how connected you were to Lady. How connected we all were to all of our wolves. It's because we're all wargs, to one extent or another. And I have greensight. That's where I've been. Learning how to control it, how to use it." Sansa looked past Bran to Jon for a second.

"But you're alright, aren't you?" She couldn't consider what he'd said just yet. It was too much to take in.

"Better than ever." he squeezed her hand. "And how about you?"

"Alive." she smiled. "And whole."

"So you found her then?" Sansa's smile faded and she blinked at her brother. "I thought you might, but I wasn't for certain."

"Found who?" Rickon asked. For the moment neither acknowledged him.

"Yes." Sansa finally said. "I found her, but I don't think she ever lost me. I just lost her for a while."

"She's in you now." Bran pulled his hand away. "There's no loosing her again."

They sat and talked for a while longer, before maester Tannard came up and told everyone to leave. She waited until Bran and Rickon were both gone before speaking.

"Jon, wait just a moment." Jon stopped at the door and looked at Tannard who held the door. The maester hesitated for a second, then looked at Sansa.

"A few moments. Then you need to rest." Once he closed the door, Jon took a few steps to stand closer to her bed.

"I'll give you two a moment." Sandor kissed her hair and followed the maester out.

"You came to escort Bran home?" she asked him once they were alone.

"Yes. And to see that Robb and fathers remains are brought back here, to be entombed as they should be."

"How are you doing that?" Sansa asked, shamed she hadn't thought of that.

"I've written Queen Daenerys and she is exhuming fathers remains to be brought back when she comes during the next moon. And Robb's remains have already been found at the Twins. He should be here within the next few days."

"Thank you." she whispered. "I should have thought of that."

"You've done more than I could have ever managed, Sansa."

"No." she shook her head. "You could have done it, would have if it weren't for your vows." Jon looked away from her then, out the window into the darkening sky.

"Part of me thinks I should have been there with Robb. He was my brother. I should have been with him."

"Nonsense." she said firmly. "Just as a Stark should be in Winterfell, one has always been manning the Wall as well. You are that Stark, Jon."

"I'm a Snow." he sounded unsure, confused. She couldn't really blame him. She had always been so cold to him in the past.

"You are Eddard Starks son." she insisted. "That's all that matters. And...and you are my brother. I'm sorry I never treated you as such before." Jon looked overwhelmed for a second, his mouth coming open, his eyes widening. Then he pulled himself together.

"As your brother, I forgive you." he swallowed. "And as my sister, I insist you get better. You and that hound of a husband you've chosen have to come see me at the Wall. Stand on the top and look over the world."

"That sounds...lovely." she laughed and Jon did as well.

"Bran enjoyed it when I took him before we came home." Sansa smiled, liking that he still saw this place as home.

After Jon left both maester Tannard and Sandor came back in. While Tannard gave her a list of rules and guidelines Sandor instructed the stewards son to bring them up their supper. Once Tannard had left again, and the maids had filled the tub, Sandor helped her out of bed and out of her gown so she could bathe. She cringed at how thin she'd become but Sandor didn't seem to notice as he assisted her into the tub and took over washing her body and hair once her arms got too tired. Lifting her from the tub, he dried her off and helped her to dress again. They ate their supper in bed, her a bowl of steaming broth and a cup of hot tea with honey. His roasted chicken and vegetables looked much better, but she could only manage half of her broth before sitting it aside. Sandor insisted she drink the rest of her tea and once she had, he took their things and sat them on the table before rejoining her in bed.

"All of my life I've feared one thing and one thing only." he told her as they lay facing each other. "And that was fire. I can't seem to shake the memory of it eating up my face, of the searing pain and the smell of burning flesh." Sansa gulped down her tears, knowing he wouldn't want them right now. And she didn't want him to stop sharing. Not when he hardly ever did so. He lifted a hand and lay it gently on the side of her neck, his thumb smoothing her cheek.

"But if it meant not loosing you again, if it meant your life, I'd gladly walk through fire because the fear I felt at never seeing your eyes open again..." he paused, swallowed hard. Sansa bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out. "The fear that I would have to live without you, it doesn't even compare to fire."

"Sandor." this time she couldn't hold the tears back, but he just swiped them away with his thumb as he softly kissed her mouth.

"I love you, Sansa." he said when he pulled back. "Burning again would be preferable to a life without you now that I've had you."

"Oh, Sandor." she sobbed, pulling on him until he came to her so she could burry her face in his neck, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She was too weak to hold him as tight as she wanted, so she settled for him holding her tightly. "I love you, too." she said into his throat. "And I'm not going anywhere ever again."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while. I feel like my muse left me for a while. Then I watched A Royal Affair and felt inspired again! Not that this chapter holds any resemblance of that story, but its a lovely period drama. If you like foreign films you should definitely check it out! Or if you just like looking at the beauty that is Mads Mikkelsen's face you should also check it out ;)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Sansa recovered quicker than any of them had been expecting. Within a week she was up and about and within a sennight she was back to handling her duties as Queen, although she had Bran helping her at every step. Sandor was glad for that. She put on a good front, but every evening when they retired together she was far more tired than usual, and because of that he hadn't pushed for any sort of intimacy outside of kissing and holding her. He wanted her. More than he'd thought possible, but it felt like he hadn't been with her in that way in forever. Sandor had always been a physical man. Action was his way of expressing everything. And now that he'd acknowledged to himself and to Sansa that he loved her, his body was aching to show her as well. But he withheld, for her. He wanted her back at her normal self before then.

After the first sennight she restarted her sword training against Sandor's explicit wishes and demands. If he wouldn't do it, she told him, she would just have Ser Jaime spar with her. That angered Sandor for some reason. Sword play was something she had entrusted him with, the first thing she had entrusted him with. He didn't want someone else taking his place, especially Jaime fucking Lannister. He was too busy during the day to help her, but in the evenings before they dinned they would spend an hour in the training yard together. Rickon, Bran, and Jon would be there as well, Rickon yelling out his encouragement, Bran watching calmly from his chair. Occasionally Jon would step in and give Sansa advice. The bastard was staying here until after Bran took his seat as King. In another sennight would be his coronation and he'd officially take over as King in the North. Sandor and Sansa would also have their wedding feast and celebration along side the coronation. Sandor was glad for that. It would take some of the focus away from himself.

When Sansa wasn't attending to things as Queen, Sandor could always find her with either Jon or Lady Stark and the new baby. Both Sansa and Jon were smitten with the girl, although Sandor couldn't really grasp why. She didn't do anything other than sleep, shit, and cry. But Sansa went on about how the little girl looked so much like Robb with her mess of curly auburn hair and Tully blue eyes. But it was watching Sansa with the girl, Catey, Jeyne had named her, that Sandor realized something. Seeing how Sansa beamed while she held the tiny thing, how she swayed slightly as she walked with her, sang sweet little songs to her, and all Sandor could think of was how she would look doing all of that while holding his child. Would she still look at it with such adoration if it were a baby with black hair and grey eyes? At night when he would hold her, his hand smoothing across her flat stomach, he would wonder what she would look like swollen with his baby growing inside of her. It frightened him beyond anything else. Almost losing Sansa had been devastating. Women often died giving birth. And Sansa was so small and he was so big. What if he put a baby inside of her that was too big for her to handle? Eventually it would have to happen. With Bran as King, and with his disability, heirs would be up to Sansa and Rickon, should the wild boy ever marry. It was odd, to want something so badly but also be terrified of it. But wasn't that how he'd always felt about Sansa?

Queen Daenerys arrived a few days before the coronation and marriage celebrations. Sandor stood alongside Sansa and her brothers as her party entered. Sandor couldn't help but think of the last time a royal procession had entered the gates of Winterfell, and how he'd been on the other side. Casting a glance at Sansa and Bran, he could tell they were thinking the same thing. But it wasn't the obese and outrageous king Robert that rode in, and there was no wheelhouse holding a demented queen. Instead there was a silver white mare that was prettier than any horse Sandor had ever seen, and atop the mare sat a tiny girl with the infamous silver hair of her Targareyan lineage. She pulled the horse up near where they stood, smiling kindly down at Sansa. A man that looked to be Dorthraki came and helped her dismount and she approached them. Sandor could see in the way she walked, in the way she held herself, that she was a true queen. Sansa had the same walk, the same air of dignity and grace that demanded respect. Two armored knights followed closely behind her, a young girl with dark skin at her side.

"Your Grace." Sansa greeted her and they all took a knee.

"Please." Daenerys said. "It's really rather silly, a queen bowing to a queen." Sansa rose first, then they all followed.

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"It's Dany. None of this Your Grace. We are both royalty. No need to refer to each other as such." Sansa smiled and nodded.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Dany."

"And you as well, Sansa." Sansa blushed slightly, then turned towards Sandor.

"This is my husband, Lord Sandor Stark." Violet eyes met his, then flicked to his scars. He gave her credit for not cringing although he did notice her back up the smallest of steps.

 "Lord Stark." she bowed her head slightly. "It takes a certain kind of bravery to take his lady wife's name."

"It would take a certain king of idiocy to deny my wife." Dany smiled at that, looking pleased with his response. Sansa blushed even more, suppressing a smile.

"These are my brothers, Lord Rickon Stark." Sansa put her hand on Rickon's shoulder and he bowed at the waist to Dany.

"You look like a warrior, young Stark." Dany told him.

"Did you bring your dragons?" Rickon asked and Sandor chuckled.

"Rickon!" Sansa scolded him.

"That's alright." Dany assured her. "But no. The dragons remain at Kings Landing. You'll have to visit one day and meet them." Rickon beamed at the idea.

"And this is Lord Brandon Stark." Dany took a step to stand in front of Bran's chair.

"It's Bran, please." he bowed his head.

"Soon to be King." Dany reminded him.

"Forgive me for not rising." Bran touched the arms of his chair. Sandor held his breath, tense. If she disgraced the boy for his affliction, Sandor wasn't certain he could keep his anger in check.

"I have no need of your apologies and there is nothing to forgive." Sandor relaxed, not really paying attention anymore as Sansa introduced Jeyne and her baby. His attention caught on the knight behind the queen. He was watching Sandor as well. _Son of the Stranger_ , that was Ser Barristan Selmy. Sandor hadn't seen him since he'd been dismissed from the Kingsguard after Roberts death. Sandor looked across the yard to where Jaime stood with members of the garrison. Three former Kingsguard somehow all still alive, somehow all now in service to their former employers enemies.

"I'll show you to your chambers, and my husband and brother will help your men settle in down here." Sansa's words brought his attention back to what was going on and he nodded his consent.

"Lord Stark, this is Ser Grey Worm." Dany introduced the other man who'd been following her and Sandor almost lifted a brow at the name. It had to be a jape. But looking at the young man, free of any hair and any hint of humor, Sandor figured it wasn't a joke. "And this is Ser Barristan Selmy."

"I know." Sandor nodded at the older man.

"That's right." Dany said. "I'd forgotten that you would know each other."

"That we do, Your Grace." Barristan agreed, not looking away from Sandor.

Once Sansa and the queen had departed for the castle, Ser Jaime, Jon, and himself showed the remaining men around and where they could pitch tents for those who couldn't be housed in the castle holdings.

"Ser Barristan keeps glaring at you and the Kingslayer." Jon told him as the stood together overlooking the free riders as they made camp.

"He wasn't happy when I became Kingsguard without taking any oaths. And then he was dismissed." Sandor shrugged. "I doubt he has any love for anything that reminds him of the shitshow Kings Landing had become towards the end of Roberts rule and the beginning of Joffrey's." Jon nodded without looking at Sandor.

"And you?"

"I married to the biggest reminder of how sadistic the power had made that little golden cunt." He said the words with contempt. He didn't like to remember how he had failed Sansa for the first years he'd known her.

"I suppose that's probably also hard for Ser Barristan to wrap his mind around."

"What is?" Sandor turned to face Jon, but his face gave away nothing. As usual.

"That love came out of the shitshow Kings Landing had become." Jon grinned a little. "That Sansa opened not only her castle but her heart to two of the men closest to Joffrey Baratheon." Sandor couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

"Hells, boy. Even I have trouble wrapping my head around that."

"I guess Sansa forgiving you is no more surprising than Bran forgiving Ser Jaime." Jon shrugged and looked back at the commotion of men. "Proof that people are more than just good or bad, evil or honorable. There's a bit of ice and fire in all of us, Clegane. My brother and sister are just some of the few that can see that and accept it."

The day of the coronation and celebration came, and with it brought more people than Sandor had been around since leaving Kings Landing. Sansa had dressed in her finest dress of grey velvet. In a touching gesture, she also wore a brooch pinned to her breast, the yellow gem surrounded by obsidian jewels. His house colors. He was dressed in clothes that Sansa had made for him for the occasion. Nothing too ostentatious, a dark grey tunic under a black leather jerkin and dark grey breeches. Over it he wore his sword belt and a cloak with white and grey fur around the collar. Sansa had told him he looked handsome. Sandor had scoffed at her. He wasn't handsome and never would be, even if he hadn't been scarred. But he could tell she meant it, for whatever reason, so he hadn't tried to counter her. Jon and Rickon both taunted him, telling him he looked like a true Northern Lord now. Bran reminded them that he was.

The coronation ceremony took place in the Godswood in the eyes of the Heart Tree. It was long and cold and even Bran looked irritated as the ceremony stretched on. Eventually he said the vows that needed to be said, Sansa crowing him, a show of her passing over the royal responsibilities to him. The crown, brushed silver with the image of direwolves running around the head of it, low points coming up off of it and tipped with black jewels, was made specifically for the occasion as Sansa had never worn a crown herself. It fit Bran well. Queen Daenerys added some dribble after the crowning, something about ruling the realms with him. Sandor couldn't really hear her past his freezing feet. He wasn't certain he'd ever get used to the cold of the North. But looking over at Sansa he knew he'd damn well put up with anything. Besides, it was her body that warmed him at night. He'd gladly freeze all day for that.

When the ceremony was finally over Sandor and Hodor had to help get Bran out of the Godswood for his chair couldn't make it through the snow. His horse and special saddle waited at the edge and Sandor let Hodor take over strapping the boy in while he assisted Sansa back onto her mare before mounting Stranger. Daenerys had commented on how fine a stud his destrier was, and the Dorthraki that were with her had damned near swooned over the beast although Stranger had kicked at a few and had nearly taken the ear from another when he got too close.

By the time they reached Winterfell again it was time for the celebration feast. Most of the focus stayed on Bran, but after he'd sat and received countless pointless gifts from the people, Sansa and Sandor were forced to stand up and be presented as Lady wife and Lord husband to the people. As they stood together on the dais, Sansa's arm linked with his, he felt a strange surge of pride. He had been dreading this day but now that it was here, he found he enjoyed showing off the fact that Sansa was now his and that he was now hers. He had been for years, but now he was able to openly show it. And that meant he was within his rights to bodily slam any of the highborn cunts that tried anything with her. Soon the cheers turned into calls for them to dance.

"It's up to you." she told him. "We don't have to." Looking down at her, he could tell she wanted to.

"I'm not bloody good at it." he warned her as he led her down the steps of the dias. Sansa just laughed at him. Stepping to the middle of the floor, he let her arrange herself around him as she should be and as the music started he led her around the dance floor as he'd seen done countless times in court. He only stepped on her toes a few times, and only once had he spun her into another couple dancing. When the song was over she was laughing so hard tears were starting to form in her eyes.

"I told you I was no good at it." he lightly pinched her chin before letting his hands fall to his sides. She surprised him by flattening both palms on his chest and taking a step into him. She was never so bold with her touches in public before.

"You make up for it." she grinned hotly. "Here and there." then she kissed his cheek before tugging him back to their seats at the high table with Bran. Did she just make a sexual jape? Was that what she was referring to? Hells, he hoped so because she damn sure took him to the seven heavens every time he was inside of her. He'd like to think he did the same to her.

As the celebration wore on, and the wine flowed, the dance floor became a busy place. Sansa danced again with Rickon and then Jon. She even danced with Ser Jaime which at first irritated Sandor, but the Lannister was all proper and respectful. Daenerys asked him to dance and Sandor tried to decline her, but she had told him he wasn't allowed to refuse a queen so he let the tiny bit of a girl pull him out onto the dance floor, looking over at where Sansa was grinning widely at him with Ser Barristan now leading her.

"Sansa is a very special sort of girl." Daenerys said after the first few steps. Sandor looked down at her, finding violet eyes looking back up at him without flinching. Good for her. She was getting used to the horror of his face.

"Sansa is as far from a girl as you are, Your Grace." he pointed out.

"Life has a way of taking away ones childhood." Dany agreed. "I've heard of what was done to her at the hands of Joffrey." she cocked her head to the side and eyed him. "I've also heard what you did for her. Even Ser Barristan talks about the wolf that managed to turn a loyal hound from his master."

"You'd think an old knight would have better things to speak of."

"Is there anything better?" Dany countered and Sandor flicked his gaze down to her. "My first husband is the only man I've ever loved, and I didn't love him at first." she smiled at the memory. "He frightened me. He was harsh and somewhat brutal, but as time passed he was less harsh and never brutal towards me. You remind me of him, in a way." at Sandor's raised brow Dany laughed.

"Oh, don't worry Lord Stark." she chuckled. "No offense meant, but I have no interest in you like that." Sandor scowled at her. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Women didn't have interest in him. Except Sansa, and her interest was the only one he wanted. Even as beautiful as the dragon queen was.

"I was just going to say, even if you think you don't, you and Lady Sansa fit together perfectly. More perfect than I think I've ever seen two people fit." The song ended and Sandor dropped his hands from her, looking down at her in surprise. "Thank you for the dance, My Lord."

"Your Grace." he bowed slightly to her, then watched her walk away before searching out Sansa again. She was flushed from the cups of wine she'd drank and her eyes were sparkling with joy.

"You enjoying the wine, My Lady?" he pulled her arm through his and led her back towards the dais as she swayed a little.

"I don't know how you handle that sour red." she gave a mock shiver. "But the apricot wine from Meereen that Dany brought is very good."

"Didn't I tell you once that all a man needs is a flagon of sour red?" he pulled her chair out for her and eased her into it.

"Yes, you did." she laughed. "You said that. Or a woman." she grasped his jerkin near the collar and pulled until he was face to face with her, one hand braced on the back of her chair, the other the table. "You have a woman now, My Lord." her fingers grazed the bare skin of his throat and his blood sang hot. "No need for the red anymore." he knew she was teasing, but it was true. Since they'd been here he hadn't drank enough sour red to get drunk. Not even when he thought he was loosing her.

"No, Sansa." he kissed her forehead before removing her hand from him. "No need for it anymore." he brushed her knuckles against his lips before taking his seat next to her again. It was another hour of loud talking and laughing and drinking before he decided it was best to take Sansa back to their rooms before he had to carry her. By the time he got her to their bedchamber she was laughing at herself. At first it was for tripping on the steps, then it was for loosing her shoe, then it was for snorting loudly while she was laughing. He wasn't quite sure what the laughter was from now, probably a combination of it all, but he found himself smiling along with her.

"Come now, intoxicated little bird." he pulled her to the bed and started helping her out of her dress. She silenced her laughter, swaying slightly as he removed her clothing until she was just in her shift. He started to kneel and pick up the discarded clothing when she suddenly lurched at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and slamming her mouth to his. Stunned though he was, he also automatically responded and wrapped both arms around her waist to hold her to him while he accepted her wet, somewhat sloppy, but enthusiastic kiss. It had the predictable effect on him, but he eventually eased her away from him and sat her back on her feet where she promptly stumbled. She giggled when he caught her shoulders to steady her.

"Lets get you into bed." he pulled the furs back and she pouted.

"Don't you want me?" Sandor eyed her for a long moment. She was still swaying slightly and her eyes were glassy. She was drunk, no question, and for some reason he felt guilty having sex with her when she was drunk.

"In bed." he urged her onto the mattress but when he leaned over her to pull the furs up, she caught his collar again and pulled his face to hers, her hot little tongue tracing over his bottom lip before devouring his mouth. Sandor momentarily forgot he felt guilty for taking advantage of her drunken state and kissed her back just as passionately, lifting a knee onto the mattress so he could lean his upper body over hers. She was moaning and writhing under him, her hands fighting against the bindings of his jerkin.

"Sandor, please." her words were garbled and slurred and that reminded him of why he didn't want to do this like...this. He slowly pulled his mouth away from hers, dropping sweet kisses to her cheek when he got away from her mouth.

"Sleep, little bird." he kissed her throat. "You're drunk and I wont take my pleasure on you when you're not coherent."

"Oh, but I'm on fire." she whined, lifting her hips against him. "Please." Almost without his mindful permission, his hand slid up the length of her inner thigh. Her small clothes were soaked through and clinging to her heat. Sandor groaned at the feel of her, absently rubbing around her in wide circles.

"Yes." she moaned and he lifted his head to look at her, debating. Still her eyes were glazed and now unfocused. But she was so hot and so wet. Against his better judgment, he slid onto the mattress between her thighs and quickly removed her smallclothes. He didn't remove her shift, just pushed it up out of his way. There was something he'd been wanting to try with her, something he'd heard of being done before but had never thought she'd willingly let him. She would deny him out of embarrassment. But with the help of the wine, her propriety was low right now so he lowered his head and kissed each hip bone, his fingers tracing the lines of her hot, silky folds. Lower he kissed, the top of one thigh, then the inside of it, the fingers of his free hand running up and down the opposite thigh. Glancing up the length of her writhing body he gently lowered his mouth and kissed her soft curls. Sansa gasped loudly, her head lifting slightly so she could see him, but she didn't tell him to stop or slam her legs closed. Holding her gaze, he spread her folds open and laved his tongue over her. Her mouth opened wordlessly, Sandor being the one to moan. He'd never tasted a woman before. Not like this. She tasted hot and a little salty but sweet as any wine he'd ever tasted.

Focusing on what he was doing now, he explored every hot inch of her with his tongue, testing the amount of pressure she liked, or where she liked it. He found her clit, swollen up and hard as his cock felt at the moment, so he sucked it into his mouth and she damn near came off the mattress, yelling so loudly he feared the guards might burst through the doors. They didn't so he ate at her harder, more firmly, rubbing his tongue around what he was sucking on before slipping two fingers inside of her easily. And she came. Bursting against his mouth with a long, loud moan with is name mixed in. As her inner muscles clenched his fingers he could feel her pulsing against his tongue and he had to grind his hips into the mattress to ease the pressure in his own groin.

"Oh, Gods." Sansa moaned when she finally went limp. He eased his fingers from her, slowly kissing up her now unmoving body. When he reached where the shift had been pushed up just under her breasts, he looked up at her face and laughed out loud. She was passed smooth out, her mouth open slightly. His laugh quickly turned into a groan when the pounding of his own arousal didn't stop. But there was no way in all the known world that he was taking her while she was unconscious so he pulled her shift back down before climbing off the bed and covering her up. He'd take care of his own ache, like he had countless times before to fantasies of her, only now it was better because the fantasy he played in his mind was a real memory. And he could still taste her on his tongue.

Once he was finished and cleaned up, he filled a glass with water and sat it next to her side of the bed with a small piece of willow bark for her to chew on once she woke up with what he knew would be a headache. Just in case, he put the chamber pot on the floor next to her. Crawling in bed next to her, he thought it best to leave her like she was instead of pulling her to him. He didn't want to upset her stomach by moving her around and he didn't really fancy being thrown up on if she were to wake up in the middle of the night and need to.

As he looked at her sleeping, he thought of what the queen had said. That they fit together perfectly. He had to say she was right. No woman, or man for that matter, had ever suited him as well as Sansa did. Just enough sweetness and innocence to bring out the protective side of him with a big enough sense of haughtiness to put him in his place when need be. He couldn't help but wonder if their children would inherit that from her, or if they would get his short temper and anger. Either way, he knew Sansa would be a perfect mother, maybe even good enough to make up for what he knew he would lack in being a father. In the morning, or maybe once her wine sickness was passed, he would tell her. It would be her decision when she wanted him to spill inside of her. He'd gladly keep pulling out if she wanted to wait awhile, maybe travel some now that her duties were lessened. But he was more than ready to put the past behind them and fully embrace the future he now had. A future with his little bird.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning Sansa slept later than normal. Sandor got up and dressed and sent a maid for breakfast to be sent up to their room, guessing that Sansa would rather try and recover in the privacy of their chambers before seeing anyone. Once the food arrived and he sat it out on the table, he went to her side of the bed and gently woke her up by smoothing her hair off her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, a bit bloodshot, and she groaned.

"Time to wake up you lazy woman." he said with amusement. Sansa groaned again, wiping a hand across her face.

"How did you deal with this so often?" she mumbled and Sandor laughed. Back when he was getting drunk all the time, he got far more pissed than she had last night, but he kept that to himself.

"Drink lots of water." he told her. "It helps."

"I don't want to get up." she complained, sounding like a petulant child and it made him chuckle again. "But I have to make water." She must be feeling poorly because she never would have admitted that without blushing. Getting off the bed, he moved out of her way so she could go behind the wooden screen and relieve herself. While she was back there, he went over to the table and sat out their food before sitting down and starting to eat. When she came back around after a few minutes she was wearing a robe and had done her hair in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. Although she looked a little pale, her cheeks were flaming as she lowered herself into the seat across from him. He had a guess at the reason for the blush and couldn't help the smug look on his face as he kept eating and watching her.

"Last night." she began, then stopped, nervously spinning her mug of steaming tea. When she continued, she never looked up at him. "Last night when we got back to the chambers, you...uh, what you did. To me. That was inappropriate and I'm sorry that I didn't have the presence of mind to deny you such...actions." Sandor was struck. He hadn't expected that. His shock quickly morphed into annoyance and anger. Sitting his food aside roughly, he leaned forward across the table.

"Look at me." she didn't, her face getting redder and his temper getting shorter. "Look at me!" he nearly shouted and her eyes quickly rose to meet his. "Don't fucking apologize for letting me please you, damnit. I enjoyed it and I know you bloody well did too. I've got missing chunks of hair to prove it, and I'm certain the guards in the halls heard you screaming out your enjoyment of it, and they damn well know who it was that was giving it to you because it was my name you were screaming." Sansa gaped at him, looking both scandalized at his words and a little aroused by them as well.

"You are my wife, Sansa. Nothing we do together in that bed will ever be inappropriate so long as we're getting pleasure from it." With that, he jerked his plate back to him and started eating again, although he wasn't so much tasting the food anymore.

"So that..." she began after a long stretch of quiet. "What you did, that's something that other women enjoy as well?"

"Judging from the bowdy talk that surrounds the action, I'd say so." he glanced over at her. She was bitting the inside of her lip.

"So you've...other women you've been with have partaken in that act?"

"Not with me." he said evenly. "I've never done that before. And it's called eating you, little bird." To his surprise his words didn't cause her to blush any more than she already was.

"You said you enjoyed it."

"I did." he agreed.

"But, how could such a thing be enjoyable to you? I never touched your...you."

"Trust me, little bird." he grinned. "Hearing and seeing you come is enough to please me. Tasting it made it even better." She was quite for another moment, thinking it seemed.

"I enjoy seeing you that way as well." she finally said. "But I still don't understand. You weren't able to...finish." Sandor eyed her for a moment, debating on telling her or not. But he enjoyed seeing her disquieted occasionally.

"Oh, I finished. Albeit by my own hand, but it was still pleasurable." Sansa gasped, then flushed a deeper red, her hand coming up to press against her flaming cheek.

"Sandor." if his name was meant to be a scold, it came out far too breathless.

"Eat, girl." he stood from the table and started putting on his sword belt. "I'm going down to check on the men."

He found Ser Jaime near the stables with a few of the knights that had come with Dany, along with Ser Barristan.

"Ah, Clegane." Jaime smiled at him. "You remember Ser Barristan, I'm sure."

"I do." he looked at the older knight.

"Clegane?" Barristan asked. "I thought you went by Stark these days."

"Only officially, and the Lannister here has never stood on ceremony." he eyed Jaime for a second before looking back to Barristan. "I'm still a Clegane."

"No getting away from a name like that." Sandor felt the burnt side of his mouth twitch, but he held his tongue. Barristan Selmy was one of the few, nay the only, knight Sandor had ever held a bit of respect for, before Jaime had changed his course. "Speaking of that name, Clegane is a minor house. And you are it's second son."

"I'm it's only son now." Sandor quickly corrected him, clenching his fists at what he knew the other man was getting at.

"Tell me, Hound, how did a dog like you convince the Queen in the North to marry you?" Sandor went rigid at the older mans hidden implication. That Sandor had forced her to marry him.

"I do believe you've gotten the wrong of it, Ser Barristan." Jaime lightly put in. "The way it played out was the Queen all but demanding Clegane marry her." Barristan's eyes went from Jaime to Sandor, one white brow lifting.

"It doesn't make any sense." he said.

"Ah, but love is blind." Jaime japed. "It must be for Lady Sansa to look past that ugly mug."

"Now that you've question my honor, Ser Barristan, I must ask myself. How did you go from Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Lord Commander to your first kings greatest enemies Queensguard?"

"That little...golden fool of a child you played shield to dismissed me and the Seven Kingdoms went to shit." he lifted his chin with dignity and pride. "I found one more worthy of my sword and of my council." he eyed Sandor a moment with blue eyes that seemed almost sad. "What say you, Clegane? What makes a man like you, one that was so loyal to the Lannister's in general and Joffrey in specific, turn on his charge during a most crucial time?" Sandor was silent for a moment, knowing that was a question most men asked themselves about him.

"I found one more worthy of my sword and of my life." Barristan paused, seeming somewhat taken aback by Sandor reusing his own words.

"Seems that we all have the same reasoning for turning cloak." Jaime broke the silence that ensued. "Reasoning's that turned out to be what saved our lives and likely our Kingdom."

After that, Ser Barristan didn't seem so cold or angered at either Jaime or Sandor. And over the next three days they spent quite a lot of time together before the Queens party left to go back to Kings Landing. Dany promised she would welcome Rickon any time at the castle and show him her dragons. Bran assured his brother that once things were more settled he would be allowed to go. Jon left for the Wall that same day, hugging both of his brothers and Sansa with tears in his grey eyes.

"Come see me at the Wall sometime." he told Sansa, then looked at Sandor. "Standing on the top of it makes even a man as big as you feel small." Sandor assured the bastard they'd visit, shaking his offered hand.

"Take care of her." Jon told him one he'd mounted. "And them." he nodded towards his brothers and Sandor nodded his assurance that he would.

After everyone was gone, the castle seemed quieter and for that Sandor was thankful. After dinning that evening and they'd gotten back to their chambers Sandor decided now was the best time to talk to her.

"Jeyne is leaving to go back to the Crag soon." he observed as he started to disrobe.

"She is." Sansa sighed. "I can't keep her from her family any longer. But I'll miss sweet little Catey." She sat at her little vanity, brushing her long hair out. He liked when it was loose like that the best. Like silken strands of fire that clung to his beard stubble and the scars on his hands. The only sort of fire he'd gladly let surround him.

"I was thinking about that." Sansa sat the brush down and turned to him, her brow puckered.

"About little Catey?"

"No." he chuckled. "About babies in general." Her face fell as he watched and he took a breath and sat down on the edge of the bed facing her. "You want children, don't you?" he asked her, knowing full well the answer.

"Of course." she said softly. "Bran wont be able to produce his own heirs, so that will be up to you and I, or Rickon once he marries."

"Yes, I know that we have to." he ran a hand over his face. "My question is do you want to. With me? Would you want to bear my children knowing what sort of man I used to be? Knowing what sort of monsters the Clegane line is known for breeding?" Sansa sucked in a breath, then slowly stood up and came to him, wrapping her arms around his head and cradling it against her breasts. He took in a deep breath, inhaling her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You are not a monster, Sandor." she said gently as she ran fingers through his hair. "And I would more than willingly bear you children. I would be honored to do as such."

"Do you want them now?" he let his hands roam the length of her back, across the full mounds of her arse, down her thighs and back up. "Or would you rather wait?"

"Wait for what?" she asked a little breathlessly. He lifted his head from her breasts and looked up at her, his hands holding on to the backs of her thighs just under the curve of her bottom.

"I thought maybe you'd want to travel now." he kissed the hallow of her throat exposed by the unlaced neck of her nightdress. "Take Jon up on his offer. Go to Maidenpool and catch a ship. See Essos or Dorn. Volantis maybe. Stop back by Kings Landing and see Dany." Sansa smiled down at him, cupping his face in her hands.

"That sounds lovely." she dropped a kiss to his forehead.

It was another turn of the moon before they left. First they went North to the Wall to see Jon. Rickon came along with them. Jon had been right. More than right. Sandor had never felt so small as when he stood on the top of the ice structure and looked out over the world. They stayed a sennight there before leaving to head North. They stopped twice, once at Howland Reeds and then again at Riverrun to stay with her uncles and meet Roslin and Edmure's child. A boy they named Robb. Sansa had cried while she held him. After Riverrun they went to Maidenpool, a place Sansa had been wanting to see all her life. It seemed outrageous to Sandor with it's pink stone walls. But this is where the fool and his cunt had met, supposedly, and even after all the shit Sansa had gone through, she still loved that story.

They stayed there a week before leaving for Kings Landing. Sandor had been somewhat nervous about returning to the city that held such horrid memories for both he and Sansa, but as they entered the city gates, he could tell things were different. Upon entering the throne room, which had been completely redecorated and was hard to picture as it had been at one time, none of the old memories came back to him. A lot of the castle had been burnt down during the siege and was being rebuilt. When Dany took Rickon and Sansa to see the dragons, Sandor decided to stay back, claiming he wanted to converse with Ser Barristan when he really didn't want to make a fool of himself by quivering like a little girl at beasts that could breath fire.

They stayed at Kings Landing a sennight and when they left, taking a ship bound for Dorne, they left Rickon behind with Dany. The boy hadn't gotten enough of the dragons apparently. It would be another six moons before they returned, sailing out of Dorne after a fortnight, seeing all the warm places of Essos, such as the Valyrian Peninsula and all of the Free Cities, Sansa's pretty white skin turning a shade darker by the time they returned to Westeros shores. She asked him if he'd like to see Clegane Keep now that it was his, but he refused. He still wasn't sure what he'd do with the keep, but he knew he didn't want to go back there.

Seeing other parts of the Known World had always been something Sandor had dreamed of, but he hadn't even dared to dream of seeing it with someone at his side like Sansa Stark. But her being there made it all the better. He enjoyed watching her take in the new sights, or try new foods. He loved the way her eyes would light up when she seen the Ladies and their new style of fashion. He spent a small fortune on buying her new jewelry and clothing, but her delight was worth it. As was seeing her wear the more revealing silks preferred by the women there. He'd even talked her into swimming in the Summer Sea during their stay at Sunspear during a hot night where he made love to her with the help of the gently rolling waves. That would likely stand out as the highlight of their travels for him.

Going back to Kings Landing to get Rickon, they were greeted with a letter from Bran. Brienne had been in touch with him. Arya had been found. By the date of the letter, she would likely be back at Winterfell before he and Sansa. They had planned to stay at least a week with Dany before making the trip back, but after receiving the news Sansa wanted nothing but to return home. From Kings Landing they took a ship, a single masted galley of thirty oars, to Whiteharbor. From there they traveled back to Winterfell. And Sansa's waiting sister. Sandor wasn't as anxious as his wife or Rickon to see her. The last thing Arya likely remembered of him, the only thing Arya likely remembered of him, was the killing of her friend, Mycah. She is not likely to forgive him for that. But since he hadn't forgiven himself for it, or the countless other most likely innocents he was instructed to kill, he couldn't blame the girl. He brought it up to Sansa back when they left Kings Landing and Sansa assured him everything would be alright. He wasn't convinced.

He'd been right.

Arya mostly ignored him on their return, focusing on greeting her siblings. He was happy to see that she and Sansa embraced warmly, both of them crying a little when the parted. Sansa began apologizing immediately for all her past wrongdoings and not being the sister she should have been. Arya apologized the same. Sandor left the siblings to reunite and found Ser Jaime out back of the kitchens drinking some wine with Brienne. They two quickly parted from their entwined embrace when Sandor walked up.

"You'll have some trouble with your good sister, Clegane." Jaime had laughed. "She went into a rage when Bran told her who her sister married."

"Can you blame the girl?" Sandor took the wineskin from Brienne and drank deeply.

"She was equally unhappy about my being here as well." Jaime added, then grinned. "Maybe not equally, but she was still put out."

"I explained to Lady Arya that you are both changed men and after spending some time with Ser Jaime, she seems to have lightened up about it."

"Only because her brother insists she forgive me, as he has." Jaime scoffed, looking angry at himself. "Though only the Gods know why he ever did." Brienne reached a hand out and placed it gently on Jaime's forearm.

"I think it would probably be best for you to talk to her." Brienne told him. "Be upfront. If you try and dance around the problem, it will only make it worse."

Sansa told him the same thing later that evening, as did Bran. So Sandor went looking for the girl, finding her out near the armory swinging a tiny blade around with deadly accuracy.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked her, and she paused after a strike, looking over at him without moving from her pose.

"Different places, from different men." she stood straight again and placed the thin blade back into her belt. She dressed in breeches, but they were of fine quality and her tunic almost reached her knees, the leather jerkin still not detracting from the fact she wasn't a boy.

"So be went off and became a little killer, did you?"

"Might be." she nodded. "Although, as I hear it, so did my sister."

"Your sister did what needed to be done, what was her duty as Queen." Sandor ran a hand across his scars. "She never enjoyed it."

"Not like you do." it wasn't a question.

"It's been a long time since I killed a man."

"How about a boy?" Arya asked with deadly calm. "When's the last time you cut a little boy in half before cutting him up and sending him back to his father?"

"I didn't cut him up." Sandor said firmly. "And I sent his body back to Cersei as it was commanded. I killed him, aye, but I never mutilated the boy."

"So your excuse is you were commanded to do it?" Arya never moved towards him or away. "That you were just doing your duty?"

"It's not an excuse." Sandor tried to find the words. "But it's the truth. I didn't enjoy killing the butchers boy."

"But you killed him regardless."

"I did." he nodded, not willing to lie. Slowly, Arya took a step back and unsheathed her small blade. Sandor watched the action, then looked back up at her.

"I had a list, you know." she told him. "Of all the people I would kill. Cersei, Joffrey, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, Ser Amory. The Tickler. Raff. Chiswyck. Polliver. Dunsen." she tilted her head to the side. "Ser Gregor Clegane. The Hound." Sandor wasn't surprised and hearing his brothers name had lost the jolt in the gut it used to bring.

"How's that list going, then?"

"All are dead. Might not be from my blade, but they're all dead. Except you."

"And you plan on killing me?" he asked the question evenly.

"I'd like to." she nodded.

"Killing me wont bring your butchers boy back." he told her. "Killing me wont do a damn thing. You'll live with the want, the need, to extract vengeance on those that have hurt you. But when the time comes, it's never as good as you thought it would be. And in the end, everyone is dead already, so even if you never get your chance, they'll all die some day."

"Your desire to kill your own brother was spoken of all over the lands."

"Aye. And I never did, but he's dead anyway." Sandor shrugged. "Life is short and death is inevitable. There's too much to bloody do instead of cutting others down."

"You're asking me not to kill you."

"I'm not asking you for shit, girl." Sandor assured her. "But I've got reasons to live now so don't think I'll just stand idle and let you pierce my heart with that little needle."

"My sister." Arya lowered the blade slightly. "She's your reason?

" "She's my reason." Sandor agreed.

"Why?" She looked genuinely curious. 

"She showed me life isn't all death and killing and pain. The world is awful, but there's people in it that make it worth it. Your sister makes my life worth it."

"Brienne told me what happened to Sansa in Kings Landing after father died." she lowered the blade completely now. "Bran told me how she survived. How she got out. Who it was that helped her in regaining Winterfell." Sandor didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. "You're different." she finally said.

"So are you." he pointed out and she grinned a little.

"Sansa would be cross at me for killing you." Arya put the blade back up. "I have no bloody idea why, but she seems to like you."

"I have no bloody idea why, either." he told her and she grinned again.

"I'll make you a deal." she took a step closer to him. "I'll let you live and take you off my list, but the second you hurt my sister, or any of my brothers, you'll be dead before you know it." Sandor wanted to laugh at the idea of this tiny spit of a girl killing someone like him, but he forced himself to remain as somber as the deal expected him to be.

"Deal." he nodded and so did Arya. Wiping her hands on her breeches, she walked past him.

"You're still as ugly as a dog, though." she told him as she passed.

"Says the girl with a face of a horse." Arya turned and glared at him as he followed her back towards the castle, but he could see a hint of amusement in her eyes. Things wouldn't be easy with Arya, and Sandor deserved no less. But as he'd told the little wolf bitch, Sansa made his life worth it. Animosity between him and her sister would only hurt Sansa, and he couldn't do that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ages of a few of the new characters have been upped to coincide with the other upped ages of the Stark kids.

Sansa had never thought much of seeing the world. All she'd ever considered as a child outside of Winterfell was Maidenpool after hearing the story of Jonquil and Florian, and as she got a little older of Kings Landing and meeting a handsome prince or knight. After she'd actually gotten to see Kings Landing and the sorts of princes and knights that lived there, all she could think about was Winterfell. She never thought about traveling so when Sandor brought it up she was a little surprised, but she seen the desire in his eyes so she'd agreed. Much to her delight and joy, she had loved every second of their travels.

The Wall was freezing and remote, but it was stunning to see such a structure and it was so very nice to see Jon and spend some more time with him. He reminded her so of their father and she had begun to love him dearly as a sister should rightfully love her brother.

Stopping to see Howland Reed had been Sandor's idea, but one she happily agreed to. He was a link to the man her father had been and she sat with him for hours upon hours listening to stories of him and her uncles and her aunt Lyanna. It pained her to realize they were all dead and gone, except for Benjen although it was assumed he was dead as well even though no body had been found. Jon still sent out searches occasionally, hoping probably in vain for a trace of him. But some people just went missing and were never to be seen or heard from again. It was just another reminder to Sansa to hold close those she held dear and love all the more openly.

Riverrun had been a bittersweet stay. Although Edmure and Rosline's baby boy looked nothing like her brother, it had overwhelmed her when she heard they had named him after Robb. Edmure had told her that Robb was the only reason why he married Rosline, and it was the night the baby was conceived that Robb had died. It felt only right to name the child after him.

Maidenpool was everything she'd ever hoped and heard it to be. Adorable pink stone walls, a beautiful coast, hospitable people, and all the landmarks she'd heard from her favorite tale. She hadn't wanted to ever leave, but knew they must, especially since Sandor jokingly teased her at every turn about her romance and whimsy.

Kings Landing hadn't brought with it the terror she'd thought, or that she knew Sandor had expected. The castle itself was mostly in ruins, but Maegor's Holdfast still stood, as well as the chambers that were hers for all those years spent there. She had gone there one day, just to see it, and had felt nothing. Not the fear and terror that gripped her every night she had spent in that room. Not the hurt and anguish that was her life during that time. Sandor seemed at ease there, only once balking when Queen Daenerys offered to take them to see the dragons. He'd made a polite decline and excuse, but Sansa knew the real reason and it tugged at her heart so later that night in their room she had taken it upon herself to rid him of any lingering memories by replacing them with new memories even though she had blushed and stumbled over unsure actions. He never complained.

Dorne was lovely, and now the thought of any ocean or sea, or really any body of water, made her hot and flushed with the memory of him taking her in the warm water. And Essos was just as lovely, but she had never been happier to go back home, knowing now that all her living siblings were in once place. Together again. A pack, with a new member. Arya was different from the little girl Sansa remembered, but then again so was Sansa. She was still stubborn and willful, although she was quiet a lot of the time. She refused dresses still, and Bran allowed it under the condition that her clothes were fitted and of fine quality. Her sister and Sandor were often at odds, although neither spoke of it to her, but she could see it in the way Arya would at times glare at Sandor, or grip the hilt of her small sword when she looked at him. Sandor never so much as acted like he noticed, although Sansa knew better. Sandor Clegane missed nothing. But Arya never acted on what Sansa was sure a desire to hurt him. And she couldn't blame Arya for that desire. Sandor had done unspeakable things in the past, but he was no longer that man. So Sansa wasn't surprised at this new creature her sister was. What had surprised her was a week later a raven came with a letter for Arya from Storm's End. Arya had hasitly opened it while Sansa watched, her cheeks tinging just a shade darker, peaking Sansa's curiousity. She'd never seen Arya blush.

"Is all well?" Sansa asked lightly when Arya seemed to be done reading.

"It's fine." Arya said destractedly, moving to sit the letter on the table. "It's a letter from a...friend of mine."

"Are they well?" Sansa asked, trying to press for more information.

"He's fine." she turned to look at Sansa. "It's Gendry Waters, or I guess it's Baratheon now that the Queen legitimized him." That surprised Sansa.

"The boy who is now Lord of the Stormlands?"

"Yes, he's...he's requested to come visit." Arya almost smiled as she said that.

"Well, you must send word right away that he is welcome." Arya did smile at that.

"I will." she nodded. Sansa waited until she had scrawled out her own letter and sent it with Mira to maester Tannard.

"How do you know this boy?"

"He was with the group of boys being taken to the Wall when Joren took me out of Kings Landing. We escaped together, along with a few other boys, after we were attacked by Ser Amory. And then again from Herrenhal." There was more to it than that, Sansa could tell from the secretive look in Arya's eye, but she didn't press her any further. Any secrets that Arya held she would tell Sansa if she wanted her to know.

Later that evening, when Sandor finally retired for the night and came to their bedchamber, she told him of the letter.

"Did you know him?" she asked once they laid down together.

"Aye, in passing." Sandor reached across the bed and pulled her into his chest. "A good smith, that boy." he kissed her hungrily, nothing tender or slow about it. Sansa felt it throughout her body, all the way to her toes which curled inward. She pried her mouth from his to breath, remembering she had more to ask him.

"Was he a nice boy?" her voice came out in between pants, his mouth now at her throat, his beard stubble scratching delightfully along her skin as his tongue laved along her pulse point. At her question his head pulled back, grey eyes narrowing at her.

"What does it matter if he was a nice boy?" Sansa realized her folly immediatly. He thought she was asking for herself.

"I think Arya fancies him." she said quickly, raising her top leg to hook around his naked hip, feeling his hot, hard length graze along her equally hot center. They both shuttered at the contact.

"Little bird." he groaned, taking hold of her hip and pulling her more firmly against him, his hips thrusting against her, his length gliding along her folds. "I don't give a buggering shite about what your sister fancies at the moment." he slid his hand up her side and then cupped her breast, a rough thumb brushing back and forth along her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. He leaned forward and nipped her bottom lip, then sucked it between his own and trailed his tongue across it. Sansa let out a needy little whimper. He released it with a pop.

"Fuck me, Sansa." he rasped. "You're so damned wet already."

"I've been thinking about you all day today." it was the truth. She always thought of him, but this afternoon, before speaking with Arya, she had inadvertently walked in on Ser Jaime and Brienne in the throes of passion. He had her pinned to the stone wall in one of the seldom used halls of the castle behind the kitchens, one of her long legs wrapped around his lean hips. They were both fully clothed, with the exception of their breeches hanging around their ankles. Sansa had paused, stifling a gasp. She had turned and fled quickly, giving them their privacy, but not before she had taken in the sight, as wrong as she knew it was. Neither had seen her, but she had seen the look of pure rapture on Brienne's face, and they way Ser Jaime's hips had moved almost desperately. Sansa hadn't known you could couple while standing. They were obviously desperate for each other, not being able to wait long enough to get to a secure and private place before taking one another. She had felt that desperate for Sandor often, but had never acted on it. And all she could think about the rest of the day was how Sandor's backside would have looked thrusting into her that way, or how good it would feel to have him take on her full weight as he lifted into her. Back in Dorne, he'd taken her in the sea while he sat on his knees in the shallow water, the waves lapping around her breasts. At the time she hadn't known intimacies could happen outside the bed. Sandor hummed his aproval of her admission agaisnt her collar bone before raking his teeth across the delicate bone.

"Tell me what you were thinking of." he growled, licking up her throat and nipping her chin.

"You." she whispered, grabbing his face to pull him in for another kiss. He let her, but broke the kiss hours too soon.

"What was I doing in your thoughts that got you so turned on?" Sansa shook her head at his question, her breathing coming quickly. It was hard to concentrate while his hips were still gently rocking against her, the blunt head of his erection nudging her clit on every thrust and her nipples brushing against the coarse hair covering his chest.

"Tell me, Sansa." he slowed his thrusts, lightened the pressure he used. Sansa realized what he was doing. He was taunting her, holding back on what she wanted and needed him to do until she answered him.

"You were...we were making love." her voice trembled and Sandor chuckled darkly before kissing her briefly again.

"How were we making love?" he asked against her mouth. "Tell me and I'll take you that way. Make your fantasy a reality." Sansa felt her womb clench at the thought of him taking her like she'd seen Ser Jaime and Brienne. Sandor must have seen it in her face because his eyes darkened and he licked his bottom lip. "Tell me, little bird." he rasped. "Tell me what you want." Sansa couldn't deny him, and she didn't want to deny herself.

"I accidentally caught Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne together earlier today." Sandor lifted his one brow, but didn't say anything. "He had her against the wall in one of the halls. They were both standing. I...I hadn't known two people could couple in such a way." Sandor's face went darker, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"You enjoyed that?" he asked. "Watching them?"

"No!" Sansa quickly gasped. "I...all I could imagine was how you would look taking me in that way. How it would feel. That's what I found enjoyment from." a low rumble came from Sandor's chest and he rolled quickly so that she was under him, her legs spread wide around his hips. Sansa gasped, arching her back and waiting for him to thrust inside of her.

"Wrap you legs around me." he said instead of thrusting. Automatically, Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips. He shoved an arm under her back, wrapping it tightly around her under her arms. "Hold on to me." When she lifted her arms to loop around his neck, he easily sat up on his knees, bringing her with him, her body flush against his. With an ease that shouldn't have surprised her, that sent a thrill through her body, he stood up off the bed while holding her and a second later her back was pressed against the warm stone wall next to the bed.

"You sure you want it like this?" he asked. "The stone is rough."

"Yes." she panted. "Yes, please."

"We can't both be standing like you seen Jaime and Brienne." he said into her ear, licking the shell of it. "Our heights aren't as evenly matched as theirs." Sasna didn't know what to say, so she simply nodded. It felt wicked to have him holding her as such, his erection pressing against the curve of her bottom, her aching center pressed tightly to the coarse hair that surrounded his member. Muscles flexing and shifting, he held her weight completely with one arm and the help of the wall as he manuvered his member with his free hand to her opening. Sansa gasped at the feel of him there, at the head of him breeching her and she tightened her arms around him and then, without preemble, he surged against her, using her own weight to help him slid deeply inside of her. Deeper than he'd ever felt before.

"Gods." she moaned at the same time he said, "Fuck." Then he shifted again, his arms sliding down her body and hooking under both of her knees so her legs drapped over the bend of his elbows and his hands grasped the mounds of her bottom.

"Hang on, little bird." he panted into her ear. "And tell me if I'm hurting you."

"You aren't." she assured him, gripping the bunched muscles of his shoulder tighter. "You won't." Then he started moving inside of her, gently at first but he had to thrust hard to be able to keep her pinned to the wall. Every surge forward slammed his pelvis against hers, giving her a firm jolt to her clit and soon she was panting, moaning and writhing on the verge of completion. Then he dropped one of her legs, shifting her weight so he braced it with his other arm wrapped around her hips while he braced his free hand on the wall next to her head. The action changed the angle of his thrusts and suddenly he was hitting something inside of her, something that felt just as sensative as her clit. She gasped, then moaned loudly as she clenched tightly around him. He growled, his mouth opening along her throat and his teeth pressing into her skin, not hard but enough to send another thrill through her. Unable to stop herself, she arched against him, her head pressing back into the stone of the wall behind her. Movement behind him off to their side caught her attention and for a brief second she thought maybe her moans and gasps had brought in the guards. But it wasn't armored guards she seen. It was them. She and Sandor reflected back to her in the large mirror that sat next to her vanity. Her mouth fell open as she watched them. How pale and small and fragile she seemed wrapped around his big, hard, and dark body. She could see the play of muscles along his back and rear and thighs, shimmering with a light sheen of sweat. How her fingers were leaving marks on his skin where she gripped him. From the angle of the mirror she could only see a flash of her own stomach and one breast when he pulled back. She knew how opposite they were in basically every way, especially physically, but it stunned her to see how beautiful they looked together. Her pale softness contrasted wonderfully with his dark hardness.

"Oh, Gods." she whispered, clutching to him tighter as her body wound tighter. She glanced in the mirror again, this time at her own face, but she hardly recognized it. The woman in the mirror was pure bliss, flushed and bright eyed with erotic sensations. She whimpered. Sandor lifted his head from her throat. She shifted her gaze to his and he slowed his hips.

"Am I hurting you?" his voice, always rasply and sharp, was deeper now. More gutteral. Wonderfully sexy.

"No." she moaned, unintentionally glancing back at the mirror. Sandor turned his head to see where her attention had gone and he completely stopped his movements against her and quickly looked away. And she knew why. The mirror sat on his burnt side so when he looked back, all he seen was his scarred side.

"No." she whispered, grasping hold of his face when she knew she was loosing him to his self loathing. "No, Sandor. Look." she rocked her hips against him, rubbing her clit along his pubic hair. "Look at us together." she looked at the mirror again, pressing his face in that direction gently. "Look how perfect we are together." She watched in the mirror as he slowly turned his head and looked, but this time he took in their entwined bodies.

"That is what I was imagining all day, Sandor." she told him, letting out a small groan of thanks as he resumed his movements inside of her although slower this time. "How good you would look taking me. How beautiful you are." She smoothed her hands as far down his back as she could reach, then back up to tangle her fingers in his hair to pull his face back to hers. The grey of his eyes were molten silver. "You are the...sexiest man I've ever seen." he closed his eyes at her words, pressing his brow to hers as he quickened his pace, still hitting that spot inside of her that made her vision blur. She could do nothing more than hold on to him, completely trusting him to hold her while she broke apart in his arms, her body clenching around him. Her muscles felt weak and shaky afterwards but she still clung to him desperately as he continued moving inside of her. He hefted her up, grabbing hold of her with both hands as he stepped back to the bed and laid her down, her bottom hanging off the side. He grasped her hips in both hands and pounded into her until he came with a loud, broken groan, his hips slamming into her bruisingly, his fingers clenching hre hips tightly, and the warmth of his seed filling her womb.

Sandor was gone when she woke up the next morning, a steaming tub near the fire waiting for her instead. She was already naked, so she sank into the water and began washing. After she was finished, she stood before the mirror and for the first time ever looked at her naked body. There was a red mark along her collar bone where he'd sucked on her skin. Another light bruise at her pulse point where he'd bitten her. Bruises that seemed to be the size of his thumbs marked both of her hips and there was a beard rash along her breasts. She looked like a thouroughly ravished woman and she smiled, happy with it. None of her dresses were high necked enough to cover his bite mark at her throat, but at least all the others were covered. When she went to the royal dinning room, finding both of her brothers just sitting down with Arya, Sandor was also just entering from the training yard.

"Good morning." she greeted her siblings. Sandor pulled out her chair for her, then took the one next to her, his hand subtly trailing along her neck, his finger skimming the bruise along her throat.

"I've sent word to Lord Gendry that he is welcome here at any time." Bran told them and when Sansa looked over at Arya her sister was smiling softly, her eyes on her food. Sansa smiled as well. She knew that look. She had smiled like that at the mention of Sandor's name since before she left Kings Landing with him.

"He said in his letter he will be bringing along his cousin who is now his ward."

"His cousin?" Sansa asked.

"Shireen Baratheon." Bran told her. "Stannis' orphaned daughter. Gendry took her in when he was appointed Lord of Storm's End."

"How old is she?" Arya asked.

"I don't know." Bran admitted.

"Younger than you." Sandor surprised everyone by answering. "But older than Rickon. She was around Myrcella's age."

"You know her?" Bran asked.

"Never met her." Sandor said while cutting into his ham. "But Robert talked of her often. Of how his brother should have had the decency to put the girl down after she'd been touched by greyscale."

"Greyscale?" Rickon asked. "Why are we letting her come here, then?"

"She isn't contagious any longer, Rickon." Sansa assured her brother. "She had it as a babe and her father hired the best maesters in the world and they were able to stop it, but from what I hear she still bares the scars from it."

"Well, we should all be used to overlooking scars by now." Arya grumbled, looking at Sandor who showed little reaction. Sansa sighed, but couldn't be too upset. They weren't killing each other at least.

It was another two moons before Gendry and Shireen came to Winterfell. Sansa was impressed with the boy, who wasn't really a boy at all. He was handsome, taking after his father in looks with bright blue eyes and thick black hair. He looked like what Sansa had pictured Robert to look like when her father had spoken of him. Strong and firm. He was polite, although a little poorly spoken, but then again, he hadn't known he was a highborn lord for most of his life. And he only had eyes for Arya, which made Sansa happy because Arya only had eyes for him as well. They spent most of their time together, talking or going on rides through the snow or sparring in the training yard. Gendry wasn't very skilled swinging a sword, but as Sandor told it, he was skilled in making one. When Gendry wasn't with Arya, he was with Sandor and Bran, each of them teaching him sword play and politics respectively. He needed the help since he was now Lord of his own lands.

Shireen proved to be a wonderful guest. She was polite and respectful, a perfect Lady with all the courtisies and none of the coldness. She took of after her father in looks, and she and Sandor had built a sweet sort of kinship, forged from both of them knowing the hardships of carrying scars on their faces. Sandor had told Sansa one night the girl made him feel guilty about how he'd lived his life full of anger while she had carried the same scars but none of the anger. Sansa had soothed him, and reminded him they had each attained their scars in far different manners. To Sansa's surprise, Shireen was thouroughly taken with Bran, and Bran with her. They spent hours together in the library reading to each other and telling each other stories. Sansa didn't think she'd ever seen Bran smile so much in all his life. Or blush as often.

It was also during their stay that Sansa became aware of her own condition. She hadn't told Sandor yet, but her moons blood hadn't come in two moons. She wanted to give it one more moon before going to the maester, and then she would tell Sandor her suspicions.

Gendry and Shireen stayed for a full moon and when it was time for them to leave, Gendry went to Bran with a request. One that didn't surprise anyone after seeing he and Arya together for the last moon. He wanted her hand in marriage. Bran had told him he had his acceptance, as long as Arya was willing. Arya said yes. She went with them back to Storm's End to prepare for the wedding that would take place in a few more moons. As they left, Sansa fought back tears. She would miss her sister, but was so happy that she was finding her own happiness. But before they left, Sansa watched as Shireen knelt next to Bran's chair, both of their hands clasping each other as they spoke softly, intently to each other. And then Shireen stood and dropped a kiss to Bran's cheek before following her cousin out of the walls of Winterfell.

The next morning Sansa had seen maester Tannard and had her pregnancy confirmed. That evening she had nervously pushed her food around her plate at supper. Bran noticed and asked her if she were feeling well and she assured him she was. Rickon asked Sandor if he would come out to the stables after they finished eating and take a look at his horse that he thought might be going lame. Sansa was glad for it because it gave her time to compose herself in the chambers before he joined her. Dressing in her finest night dress, she took her hair down and left it loose like she knew he liked it. Then she sat at on the corner of the bed and anxiously waited for his return. She didn't have to wait long.

"How's the horse?" she asked him as he removed his armor.

"He'll be fine." Sandor told her. "Just a bruised hoof I'm sure. I had the stablemaster come look at him to be sure." Once he was down to his breeches, Sansa patted the mattress next to her.

"Come sit with me, husband." Sandor lifted his brow, but came to sit next to her as she requested, sitting sideways so he faced her.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, lifting a hand to twine some of her hair around his finger. "You seem nervous."

"I'm pregnant, Sandor." she said quickly, looking up at his face. His head jerked back slightly, his eyes widening. "You wanted it to happen, right? You aren't angry with me, are you?" At that, Sandor laughed.

"Of course not." he told her, cupping the nape of her neck with one large hand. "Why would I be angry with you? I've been spilling my seed inside you now for moons. It was bound to happen."

"Right." she nodded, oddly disappointed in his reaction. She had been hoping for more, and fearing worse. Sandor pressed his thumb to her chin and and lifted so she looked at him.

"Are you not happy?" he asked her, and she could see the honest worry in his eyes and she smiled.

"Nothing has ever made me happier." she told him. "Not since you agreed to be my husband." He smiled at that and it warmed her heart. He so soldom smiled. Then he looked down at her torso, his other hand pressing against her still flat belly. She pressed one of her hands over his much bigger one, enjoying the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of her night dress.

"How long?" he asked.

"I've missed three of my moons bloods, so maester Tannard thinks it will be another six moons." Grey eyes snapped back to hers.

"That long?"

"It's just an estimate. It might be a little longer, or not quite so long." she touched his cheek, the burnt one. "Are you happy?"

"Sansa." he said her name on a sigh, then leaned forward to kiss her, his finger tightening on her neck slightly as the hand on her belly gently moved back and forth. "You've given me so damned much, little bird." he said once he pulled back, still holding her. "I never once considered a child because I honestly never thought I'd be at a place in life where I wanted one. But I want everything with you." he kissed her again. "Every buggering thing you're willing to give me."

"Everything, Sandor." she told him, pushing him back gently until he was laying on the bed and she straddled his hips. "You can have everything." with that, she lifted her night dress off of her body and preceeded to show him just how much he could have from her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will be the last chapter. I'm adding an epilogue and then it will be finished! Thanks for all who read and commented and left kudos!

Screams filled the hall and Sandor felt his blood run cold. His muscles coiled in the familiar ache to go into action, his hand reaching blindly for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there. He cursed under his breath when he felt nothing. He began pacing, his body needing action, needing movement. Needing to do something while his sweet little bird lay writhing and screaming in pain in their bedchamber while he was helpless to do anything to aide her. For the hundredth time he stopped at the door, grasping the handle before pulling his hand away. Maester Tannard would only kick him out again. And there was nothing Sandor could do for her. Not now. It was up to her.

Her labor had started the early morning of the day before. Sandor hadn't known it would last days. But the maester had assured him it was almost time when he kicked him out the last time. Sansa hadn't seemed to notice him leaving. She was focused on her own self, on the pain that was so obviously assaulting her. It had been a painful kick in the gut to see her like that and know there was nothing he could do to help her, or ease her pain.

The last few months had been good and he'd enjoyed seeing Sansa grow with his child even though the lingering fear of loosing her darkened the corners of his mind. They had traveled to Storm's End four moons back for the little wolf bitches wedding. Sandor had fought that decision. Sansa was in no condition to be traveling, and the trip would take two moons altogether. Sansa had bee persistent, though, and maester Tannard said that it would be safe enough for her to travel so long as she stayed off horseback and rode in a wheelhouse. The whole stay at Storm's End, Sandor had basically carried her everywhere, much to his little wife's annoyance and everyone else's amusement. They had also brought back with them Shireen Baratheon after she had offered her hand in marriage to Bran. That had amused Sandor. At least he wasn't the only man who was asked into marriage instead of doing the asking. But Bran had wanted to, that much was obvious, but he hadn't wanted to burden the girl with an impotent husband. Shireen had gently explained to him that, because of the lingering effects of the grey scale, she couldn't bare children anyway. So Bran had accepted. They were to be married soon.

Another scream pierced the late afternoon quiet, this one deeper, more guttural than the others. When it quieted another screamed filled his ears. Higher pitched, smaller. The wail of a baby. _His_ baby. Sandor felt his knees buckle and he had to brace his hands on the wall on either side of the door.

"Don't faint, Sandor." Bran's voice, laced with amusement, came from behind him. "I'd be unable to lift you from the ground." Sandor looked behind him at the boy, who wasn't so much a boy any longer. His King, his good brother. Someone who Sandor now considered a friend.

"Go in." Bran told him with a tilt of his head. "I'll be waiting out here for when Sansa is ready to receive." Sandor nodded, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and stepping inside the room. Sansa lay on their bed, her hair a mess and falling from the single braid that hung over her shoulder, matted to her forehead with sweat. She looked flushed and exhausted, but quite visibly glowing with happiness and pride. Maester Tannard sat at her feet on the edge of the bed. He was handing off a wiggling and bloody mess of a babe to Ona who waited with a blanket.

"It's a boy, Sandor." Sansa told him. "Come." she motioned him over to the opposite side of her that Tannard sat at. Sandor went to her, climbing onto the mattress to sit next to her. He kept his eyes adverted from whatever the maester continued doing between Sansa's legs, but he couldn't miss the blood that now covered the water proof lined sheet that lay under his wife's hips. Blood didn't bother him. He'd seen massive amounts of it in his lifetime, but worry and fear crept into his stomach at the amount there seemed to be. Could Sansa stand to loose that much?

"You did it." he said to Sansa, kissing her sweaty forehead, then he looked at the maester. "Is all well?"

"Everything went beautifully." he smiled. "A rather large child, but both mother and child are sound and healthy." with that, he stood and covered Sansa with a clean sheet before taking the now swaddled babe from the maid and handing him to Sansa.

"Hello, my son." she cooed to him, lifting him up so Sandor could see him as well. Sandor scooted closer to Sansa, hooking an arm around her shoulders and running his fingers across the matting of thick black hair that covered the baby's head. He was silent now, no longer crying, and looking up with an awareness that caught Sandor off guard. Grey eyes so like his own looked right into his.

"Oh, Sandor." Sansa angled her head to look at him. "Isn't he perfect?" Sandor swallowed, unable to speak at the moment so he just nodded, still staring down at the boy. His boy. His son. It was odd, but something bloomed in his chest, similar to what he felt whenever he looked at Sansa, but it overwhelmed him in a second.

A few hours later, after Sansa had been helped to wash up and her sheets had been changed out for clean ones, she and Sandor sat back on the bed while she nursed the boy, who suckled at her greedily.

"How did you manage to carry such a big baby?" Sandor asked. The boy was tiny, a newborn baby after all, but was so much bigger than little Catey had been when she was first born. He looked more like her a few moons after her birth.

"I'm a Stark, husband." she reminded him. "We're stronger than you think." Of course. How could he forget that?

"Since you did all the work, I guess you should have the benefit of naming him." Sansa laughed at that, but Sandor couldn't take his eyes off his son at her breast. For some reason the sight choked him up.

"I've thought about names. I suppose we can toss out the ones for girls. As well as Florian." Now Sandor did look at Sansa with his eyes narrowed. He thought she was just japing, but he wouldn't put it past her. Her smile told him he had nothing to worry about. She laughed lightly, then turned towards the baby once again.

"I think I'd like to name him after his father."

"Another Sandor?" he scoffed. "That's like to get confusing."

"No, not Sandor." she looked up at him. "You gave up your name to be with me. I'd like to give it back to you, in a way, and name him Clegane." Sandor swallowed against a tight throat before responding.

"Aye." he finally said, kissing her temple.

Sansa received guests later that evening after supper. It seemed the entirety of the castle filed in and out of their room. Bran and Rickon stayed, along with Shireen. Sandor wasn't sure he'd ever seen Rickon so calm and composed as when he sat at a chair next to the bed and Shireen handed him Clegane.

"He looks just like you, Sandor." Rickon said.

"That he does." Bran agreed. "A good strong boy, just like his father." Sandor never responded, too many emotions lodging in his throat. Those were words he never thought he'd hear, or even want to hear.

After a few hours of constant people, Sandor called a halt to it. Sansa was exhausted and needed her rest, and from what he'd heard, they weren't like to get much of that anytime soon. Once everyone was gone, leaving the little family alone once again, Sandor changed into clean breeches while Sansa fed Clegane for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"He's asleep now." she whispered when Sandor climbed onto the bed.

"You should get some sleep as well." he told her. "You've had a long couple of days." Sansa laughed at that, but as she tucked Clegane in one arm and resituated her night gown, he could see the lines of fatigue on her pretty face, the dark circles under her eyes from lack of rest and hard work. She sat up and started to rise from the bed to put the baby in the cradle next to her side of the bed when Sandor caught her arm.

"Hang on." he slid back out of bed and moved the cradle until it was pressed up against her side of the bed, that way she didn't have to get up to lay him down or retrieve him during the night. Getting back in bed, he curled his body up behind Sansa's as she lay on her side, peering down into the cradle.

"He's perfect." she whispered. Sandor kissed her just below her ear.

"Aye, that he is." The boy hadn't so much as let out a whimper the entire evening, just got a little squirmy whenever he was hungry. "I love you, Sansa." he didn't say the words often, but he found he couldn't keep them in at the moment. Sansa leaned back into him, laying her arm atop his that was over her waist and squeezed his hand gently.

"As I love you."

Sleep came in bursts of two hours at most, but no longer. Clegane never screamed or wailed, but he was very persistent when he wanted to be fed, and he did not like having wet or dirty swaddling clothes. Sandor forced Sansa to stay in bed while he changed the boy into clean cloth, then handed him off to be fed. Eventually Sansa forwent placing him in the cradle and kept him in the bed with them, that way when he was hungry all she had to do was pull down the neck of her gown and then they'd both fall back asleep.

He found her like that most mornings, her breast still out of her gown and Clegane cuddled up to her, milk dried to his chubby cheeks. The sight never failed to make his heart swell in his chest and he found he now had trouble leaving to go to work, but he refused to shirk his duties. Sansa recovered quickly from the birth and within a moon had resumed her usual daily routine, although now toting along Clegane with her. When the second moon passed, maester Tannard had told them they could resume their marital intimacies. That had both thrilled and terrified Sandor. He ached to have her again, and lately her kisses had been hotter, her touches lingering, like maybe she missed the physical aspect of the marriage as much as he had. But he was apprehensive about it. After all, Sansa had pushed out something the size of a melon. That had to have hurt, and maybe it would still hurt. He didn't want to hurt her. But he could tell from supper that he wouldn't have much of a choice in resuming their relations that night.

Under the table her hand was touching his thigh, so he had touched hers. When her foot met his calf and slid upward, he'd skimmed the hand he had on her thigh further towards the inside, then higher. She sucked in a quiet breath, her body tensing when his little finger brushed her center through the layers of her clothing. He had wanted nothing more than to dig his hand under her skirts and finger her until she sang for him right then, but he wouldn't do that to her. Not while her brothers sat at the table, not while Shireen sat on the other side of Sansa. He wouldn't embarrass her like that. So he pulled his hand away, picking up the one she was now gripping his thigh with and carrying it to his mouth and kissing the knuckles.

Although Clegane now slept through the night, by the luck of the Gods maester Tannard told them, Sansa hadn't been able to send him off to the nursery at night. Sandor had agreed with that decision, but they had moved his cradle further away from the bed, closer to the fireplace since winter was now setting in and it was becoming colder. That evening after they supped, Sansa went up to their chambers with Clegane while he made his final walk through of the yard like he did every night. When he reached their chambers, however, he found the cradle empty and Sansa standing at the foot of the bed in her robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. Sandor licked his lips as he looked at her.

"Where is the boy?" he asked.

"I had Mira take him to the nursery for the night." she told him. "It's probably time he should sleep there as it is." Sandor nodded, although he didn't respond. His heart was suddenly beating wildly in his chest. As he continued to watch her, he noticed her cheeks growing warmer, but she resolutely shook her hair back from her shoulders and undid the knot that held her robe together, then unceremoniously pushed the fabric from her body. Her completely bare, and gloriously naked body. His blood surged hot and fast to his groin and he swayed where he stood before regaining himself. He could tell she was nervous. Her hands fluttered to her abdomen, covering as much of her skin as she could with both of them.

"I look different." she whispered, her eyes cast downward when he looked up at her words. He furrowed his brow and took a few strides so he stood closer to her. She was right. Carrying their son had changed her body. Her hips were wider, her breasts larger, a stomach that used to be slightly concave was now slightly convex. Reaching for her, he grasped both her wrists and pulled her hands away, replacing them with one of his own. She was softer there now as well.

"You're perfect." he told her, and meant it. She looked better to him now than she had when he first met her. More a woman. Stronger in ways a man never could be. She laughed through her nose at that.

"I have marks on my hips now." she complained. "And my breasts." he knew she did and he looked at them now. Faint white lines that traced the curve of each hip. He looked up at her breasts, at the faint white lines that marred her otherwise pale skin. He lifted a hand, cupped one full breast, traced one of those lines with his middle finger inwards to her nipple. It beaded tightly before he touched it.

"Perfect." he said again, thicker this time. He knelt slightly so he could swipe his tongue along the tight peak that he'd given up to his son for the last two months. Her back arched, a sharp inhale of breath. He grinned. She was more sensitive now than she had been. He would have to keep that in mind. He licked her again before kissing his way over his her other breast and doing the same.

"Sandor." she breathed. He grunted his acknowledgment of the arousal coursing through her. He felt it too. Kissing his way up her chest, he stopped to nibble her collar bone, and then suck deeply at the skin where her neck met her shoulder, wanting to leave his mark behind on her. Letting his hands slid down her sides and around to her arse, he gripped the cheeks in both hands, growling low in his throat at how lush and full she was. He couldn't help but deliver a light slap to one cheek. Sansa gasped, but didn't pull away.

"Kiss me." he told her, lifting his head and leaning towards her mouth. Grasping his face in both hands, she kissed him hard and hot, licking into his mouth and dancing her tongue along his. He let her control it for a few moments, then angled his head to the side and took over, thrusting both of their tongues back into her mouth and eating at her until he couldn't breath any longer.

"Get on the bed." he rasped, stepping back away from her. She hesitated for only a second, then sat on the foot of the bed and started to scoot back. Sandor watched her as she moved, removing his own clothing with quick efficiency. "Lay down." he told her, crawling onto the bed between her legs. Sansa slowly lay down, watching him with wide, bright eyes. He moved slowly. Purposefully. Letting her know what he was going to do and giving her the time and option to stop him if she wanted. He dipped his head when he was close enough, running his stubble roughened cheek along the delicate skin of her inner thigh until his nose nudged her cunt. Keeping his head turned to the side, he looked up the length of her body, found her watching him intently, and let his tongue slide out and flick her engorged bud.

It was hot, her watching him eating her. Almost as hot as how she tasted, how wet and hot she was. How with every swipe of his tongue he was rewarded with fresh cream. It was humbling, really, to know she wanted him this much. But he wanted her too and his erection was pounding, the tip of his cock leaking fluid freely along the sheets below him. He grasped himself at the base while he buried his face deeper into his folds, searching out her depths with his tongue, and gave in to the need to ease the pressure boiling inside of him and stroked himself slowly while he ate her. She tensed, moaned, her hips lifting into his face, pressing herself more firmly against his tongue. More wetness flowed from her, richer than before, her clit swelling even further. She was going to come. And he wanted that. But he wanted to be inside of her when she did.

Pulling his mouth away, he kissed and nipped and licked up her torso, stopping to suck gently on each nipple before bracing his arms on either side of her head.

"I'll go slow." he rasped out. "Stop me if it hurts." Sansa, flushed and still hovering on the precipice of orgasm, nodded.

He meant to go slow. He really did. Had every intention of being gentle with her in case things down there were more sensitive than it was before she gave birth. But once he pressed just the head of his cock inside of her, Sansa wrapped both legs around his hips, grabbed hold of his sides tightly, and lifted herself into him while pulling him down onto her, into her, with a strength that surprised him. He groaned and bit down on his back teeth at the feel of her hot sheath rippling around his length. She was just as tight as before, which he hadn't been expecting.

"Oh, Gods." she panted. "Move. Please, Sandor. Move." Sandor pushed up onto his hands, elbows locked, so he could see her. She was panting and flushed and squirming and so gods damned beautiful it hurt. Around his length, the hot silkiness of her rippled and trembled. It wouldn't take long for her to go off, but then again, it wouldn't be long for him either. It had been a long five moons since he'd enjoyed his wife's body this way.

Long or not, he was determined to enjoy every second of it so he rose onto his knees, canting her hips up and draping her thighs over his. The position allowed him to see every inch of her body as he moved into her, allowed him to see his cock sliding in and out of her entrance. And it allowed him to easily reach above where he was buried inside of her and rub her clit. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he watched as she lost all inhibitions, her arms stretched out over her head and gripping the pillows under her. The act lifted her breasts, pulled the full mounds tight. He could feel his release, the burning want to let go and come, but he wanted her to go first so he used every ounce of his restraint and took her little nub between his fingers and pinched it lightly, pumping it rapidly. Her back bowed so far off the mattress the only thing touching it was her head, his name tearing from her throat in a hoarse scream. Her cunt clamped down on his length so hard it made it difficult to keep moving, a hot gush of fluid bathing his cock. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, and he'd been to many dirty mummers shows with Robert during his service to Cersei.

Grabbing hold of her hips to hold her still for his heavy thrusts, he just barely remembered to pull out at the last second, watching in raptured awe as his seed covered her undulating belly. Dropping down to his elbows, he felt his muscles quivering with the want to collapse, so he fell to his side next to her, one big hand spread out between her heaving breasts.

"That was..." she stopped and giggled and Sandor smiled sleepily against her neck where he'd buried his face.

"Give me a second to regain control of my muscles and I'll get you a rag to clean up with."

"I guess I'm stronger than you are." she taunted him, rolling out of his embrace. He watched her with half closed eyes as she stood up off the side of the bed and promptly swayed.

"Sure you are." he teased. She shot him a narrowed eye glare before walking a little weak kneed to the wash basin to clean herself up. He sighed and let his eyes close, not seeing when she turned and came back to him, sated exhaustion bringing about sleep quickly.

 

Bran and Shireen's wedding took place six moons after Sansa had given birth. The ceremony was far bigger than either his and Sansa's or Arya and Gendry's. Brynden and Edmure Tully came with Lady Rosline and young Robb. Gendry and Arya came as well. And even Jon made the trip down from the Wall. Lady Jeyne Stark had come with her parents and Catey. Queen Daenerys wasn't able to make it, but had sent several of her council member's in her stead, including Ser Barristan. Their wedding started in the Godswood, but ended in the Sept to honor Shireen's following of the new gods.

Although Sandor hated large gatherings, and the wedding feast was a large gathering, larger even than Bran's coronation feast, it gave him an odd sense of pleasure at seeing Sansa so happy when all her family was together. He watched with a feeling of lightness as Sansa and Arya, who actually put on a dress for the occasion, passed Clegane back and forth. The older that boy got the more he looked like his father. Arya laughed and cooed at her nephew and fought Jon when he wanted to take him.

Starks fighting over giving a Clegane love. It still astonished him.

Rickon ran wild around the great hall, chasing both Catey and Robb around. That was another thing that astonished Sandor. Rickon, always wild and rowdy, would calm down to the gentleness of a baby lamb when he was around the children.

It was then, sitting on the dais with Jon sitting next to him, telling him about the newest treaties with the wildlings, that it hit him. He looked out at the gathering. Ser Jaime and Brienne laughing with Ser Barristan. Sansa and Arya talking candidly with the affection only found in sisterhood, Clegane sleeping open mouthed in his aunts arms. Bran smiling proudly as he brushed a kiss across Shireen's hand while listening to Gendry speak. Rickon carrying a squealing Robb on his shoulders while he play danced with little Catey. These people were his family. His friends. Never in a million years had he ever pictured a life where he had either.

"It's a little overwhelming at times." Jon's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked over at him, a knowing look in his grey eyes.

"What is?" Sandor asked.

"This." he motioned towards what Sandor had been looking at. "Having a family. It's good, all that matters really, but it's overwhelming. Especially for a man who's never fit in before." Sandor eyed the other man for a moment. He was speaking from experience, Sandor knew. Life for a bastard was never easy, especially a bastard that had five true born siblings who's mother never treated him with anything but coldness.

"Aye, but it's good sort of overwhelming." Jon laughed at that, the clasped Sandor's shoulder.

"The best sort of overwhelming." he agreed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final hurrah!

**Epilogue**

The winter was long and cold, but not near as long as they had all feared. The Long Night came, as was expected, but Queen Daenerys had combined her armies with that of the North and with the Nights Watch and those of the wildlings North of the Wall. With the combined forces, and the Queen's dragons, the White Walkers had been defeated. There was significant loss of life, however. Sandor had fought in the battles, alongside Jon and once Rickon came of age and had joined the Dragon Knights, he fought alongside them as well.

That was the hardest year. Being away from Winterfell and Sansa and Clegane. But it was them that he fought for, so he fought hard. He didn't make it home completely unscathed, but walking with a limp the rest of his life was worth being able to come home. But, like all seasons, winter eventually faded and the War at the Wall ended. Sandor and Rickon were able to come home when so many others weren't able to. Brynden Tully had lost his life in the battles, but had in turn saved hundreds of men, including Jon's. Edmure Tully had survived as well, but had lost an eye and his left hand. But he still had his life and was able to return back to Riverrun and his waiting wife and child.

Once the winter was over, Rickon had gone back to Kings Landing to continue his service to the Dragon Knights and keeping the realm safe. He eventually married a highborn lady, the young daughter of one Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Lady Lollys Stokeworth. The girl thankfully hadn't taken after her mother in the figure department, but had inherited her fathers fox like features, although softened by her feminine beauty and her sweetness. They would eventually have four children together. All boys. Eddard, Ty, Brandon, and Derren. Eddard would grow up and become Lord of Winterfell and King in the North as Brans heir. And would rule just as wisely and justly as his uncles and aunt before him, and just as honorably as his grandfather before them. Ty would become Lord of Stokeworth after his father. Brandon would join the Dragon Knights as his father before him. And Derren would join his uncle Jon on the Wall as a sworn brother of the Nights Watch. There had always been a Stark on the Wall after all.

Arya and Gendry, who had also fought in the war, ended up with only a single child. A boy as well, whom Arya named Ben after their missing and presumed dead uncle. He would grow up and inherit his fathers title of Lord of the Stormlands and would do just as good a job as his father before him.

Bran and Shireen never had children, but led a happy and fulfilled marriage. After the war was over, there were many of the North's children that were now without fathers, and with the harshness of the winter, many also had lost their mothers. Shireen had taken in siblings, a young boy and girl, Cristan and Lydie, that had lost their parents, and together she had Bran raised them and gave them just as much love and advancement in life as they would have their own children.

Ser Jaime and Brienne eventually married and moved back to Tarth, as Brienne was her fathers heir. They would eventually have a child of their own. A girl, Lizabet, who was bound to have her fathers beauty but her mothers height, and would also turn out to be the link that would forge a family alliance as well as a friendly one between the former Kingslayer and the Hound.

As for Sandor and Sansa, they would have two more children after Clegane. Another boy, born nine moons after the war, whom they named Brynden. Like his brother before him, he took much after his father, although his hair had a red hue that lightened the black and his eyes a Tully blue. He would be the one to marry Lizabet. It was a fitting relationship, and Brynden, who had outgrown his own father at the age of 14, was quite possibly the only man in the Seven Kingdoms that Lizabet had to go on toe to kiss. The girl, pretty as she was, stood eye to eye with Sandor. Together they would take over Tarth as Jaime and Brienne's heirs.

A year after having Brynden, a baby girl followed, born two moons too early and no bigger than her fathers hand. Maester Tannard had said she wouldn't survive her first night, but her mother and father were determined that wouldn't happen. She had not an ounce of fat on her, and nearly translucent skin. They had to feed her with a glass dropper and the milk that Sansa had to express from her breasts herself. The little girl had no ability to hold her own heat, so Sandor would spend hours holding her tiny body between his large hands, and Sansa would spend the nights with the baby bound to her skin under her nightgown. She not only survived, but she thrived and grew up to be as strong and willful as her aunt, and looked much like her with dark brown hair and eyes of grey. They named her Lyla after the sister that Sandor had lost all those years ago. She would grow up to marry Lord Kegan Glover and become Lady of Deepwood Motte.

Life wasn't without hardships. Sandor and Sansa had many falling outs, and once during their marriage she had even begged him to leave her after he'd been particularly cruel for no other reason than his own insecurities. She hadn't really meant it, and he knew that. After that night, though, he had made a concentrated effort to gain a better hold of his anger and deal with his insecurities.

After the winter ended, Bran had offered Sandor knighthood. Sandor had refused, but Bran had always known he would. Instead, he made Sandor Lord of the Dreadfort since it had been empty and without a Lord since all the Bolton's had been dealt with. Although the house title of Dreadfort remained, Bran had discounted the sigil of the Flayed Man and let Sandor and Sansa come up with their own sigil. Sansa had designed it. A single snarling black hound racing across field of grey.

Clegane grew up to look a startling amount like his father. At times Sandor would just stare at him. It was like looking at himself in an alternate life. One where he was loved by his parents and brother and was never burnt. Clegane, as their eldest son, would become heir of the Dreadfort and would grow up to marry Bran and Shireen's ward Lydie. She had no name and no title, was the orphan daughter of a simple soldier. A marriage such as theirs wasn't something most parents would consent to, but Clegane was head over heals for the girl and had been since they were children. And Sandor knew a thing or two about marrying above ones station as Sansa knew about marrying one below. Besides, he and Sansa had agreed a long time before then that they would never dictate whom their children would marry.

Clegane Keep, still under the protection and rule of Casterly Rock and it's new Lord Tyrion Lannister, sat empty for years. When Cristan came of age, Sandor gave it to the boy with the acceptance of both King Bran and Queen Daenerys. It wasn't much, but it was more than a orphan boy such as him could have expected since Winterfell could never be his.

Through it all, the wars and the winter, the fighting and the happiness, through sickness and death and life and birth, Sansa and Sandor had each other. And over the years they learned to lean on each other, to fully depend on the other to pick up when they could not. It was easier for Sansa than it was for Sandor. He was a man, a warrior and more than twice her size. It was hard for him to be the weak one and lean on her, but he eventually let down his guard. Sansa Stark was the strongest, bravest person he'd ever met. He supposed it made him no less a man or a warrior to let her hold him when he woke up in a cold sweat, panting and crying from the dreams of fire and war and death. And once she'd calmed his raging emotions and settled his clawing fear, she would take him into her body and willingly let him take out his demons on her.

Yet, he did the same for her. Anxiety riddled her at times, sending her back to when she was nothing but a frightened young girl at the mercy of a sadistic and powerful child. He knew exactly what she needed in those moments, to be taken away from the eyes of others and to be reminded of his love for her, of her own strength and the life they now lived together. He never told her to calm down or relax. He knew it wouldn't make things better. It was best just to reassure her that this too would pass, and like everything else that had been thrown at her, she would survive it as well. With him. Together. And they did. Living a life much longer than he'd ever anticipated, growing old and grey with her by his side, surrounded by their children and the many grandchildren they were gifted.

And that's how they would pass from this life as well. In her old age, her glorious fiery hair now more white than red, her pretty porcelain skin lined with laughter and age, Sansa had fallen ill. Sandor laid down with her on a pretty clear night, the stars shinning brightly in the Northern sky. He'd taken her withered body into his arms, still strong but weakened with the passing years, and held her until she drifted off to sleep.

"I love you, Sandor Clegane." she whispered faintly, her breath brushing his neck. He felt her body go limp against his, her chest stilling with her final breath. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

"As I love you, little bird." he told her, then he felt his heart give one final beat before following her where ever it was that they would meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and commented and enjoyed this story. I cried a little writing this last part. Its a little bittersweet, but this is how I imagine true love ending. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I ever mention I was obsessed with writing SanSan fanfics? No? Well, you might have guessed! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!!


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